


The Case of the Missing Client

by Cxellover



Series: Doctor and Servant [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Marketplace Series - Laura Antoniou
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Beating, Crucifixion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Medical Inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cxellover/pseuds/Cxellover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson makes a mistake a pays for it dearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A few housekeeping notes. This will be in chapters as I can write them. 
> 
> The first story in this series will be published later this year or beginning of the next year in the No Safewords II anthology edited by the creator of the Marketplace series Laura Antoniou. A series of books I can highly recommend for both great characters, a well told story, and well done erotica. 
> 
> This is consensual. Totally consensual between all parties. Not quite safe or sane but then this is not reality either.

"You should have been there!"

The blows rained down on my back and legs. I curled up a bit to protect my stomach and softer bits from the beating that was being delivered.

"You were responsible for him!"

I didn't respond. I knew that no response was required. I steeled myself for the next set of blows. I had no excuses or explanation for what had happened and my part or lack there of.

"Stop," came the barely audible voice from the other room. I turn my head towards the sound only to see my Master clutching onto the door frame not able to stand on his feet. He looked like the specter of death. He held a hand out to me and I painfully got up and crossed to him taking both his hand and carefully putting my arm under his arm to support his weight.

“He is not yours Mycroft. He belongs to me.”

“But…”

“No. You and I know that he is not Holmes property but MY property. His errors may only be corrected by me,” he said in hoarse and halting voice.

I helped my Master back to his bed and check over his various wounds.

“You shouldn't have done that Sir. I...”

He cut me off, “You are mine and mine alone John Watson. Mine to punish and mine to reward. Now come lie next to me.”

I did as ordered and curled up next to my Master Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Fever and Fugue

_Three Weeks earlier_

I had just started my fourth year with Sherlock Holmes when the influenza epidemic hit London. I had been spending additional time both at my surgery and making house calls. Holmes knew that I was needed to help where I could so he was lenient with his demands on my time. 

I returned very late to Baker Street to find a cold supper laid out for me and a note from Holmes.

_Watson,_

_New facts in the case came up and I will be out most of this evening in the West End. I suggest that you eat and then get some sleep. Since I haven’t a clue when I will be back, please avail yourself of my bed tonight. I may see you in the morning. If not, I will see you tomorrow evening._

_SH_

I collapsed into a chair and ate my supper rather mechanically due to fatigue. My body ached especially my wounded shoulder. I found myself drinking more water trying to slake my thirst. I went to Holmes’ bedroom, changed into my nightclothes, and fell into bed. 

I awoke the next morning with my throat feeling raw, my guts were cramping, and I felt both cold and hot. 

‘Oh Good Lord, no,’ I though as I tried to get to my feet. I failed the first time falling to the floor with a loud thump. I managed to get to my hands and knees without the room spinning too much. I found myself being helped up by a pair of strong hands.

“Back to bed Watson,” came the command. I obeyed and found myself being helped as I regurgitated what was in my stomach into a chamber pot. I lay back and found myself falling into the arms of Morpheus.

I dreamed of heat, sand, and unforgiving landscapes. I found myself back in Afghanistan with the bullets flying all around. I watched each of my companions taken down and myself covered in their blood. I saw Holmes on the ridge. I called out to him to take cover and watched as his head exploded and scattered blood and brain all over the landscape.

I felt a cool cloth on my forehead at some point and heard voices talking in low tones.

“He’s not in good shape Mr. Holmes. It is complicated by the fact that he had enteric fever when he was abroad. I would suggest taking him to a hospital but they are overwhelmed with other patients.”

“Mrs. Hudson and I will be able to care for him. Thank you Doctor for your instruction.”

“I’ll give him something for the pain he is in but longer he has fever the more dangerous this is...Mr. Holmes, I have to be honest with you. This is not looking good.  
If he can’t shake this, it might very well kill him.”

I heard someone leave and Holmes say as the door closed, “Idiot.”

I felt the cloth removed from my forehead, “I order you to live Watson.”

I tried to reply but couldn’t find my voice and fell back into blackness.

I came to in the tub shivering. The water was chilled. 

“Watson?” I heard a voice say. I tried to focus but failed. So I nodded slightly.

“Thank God. I thought I had lost you. Can you stand?”

I tried to move but it was hard. My limbs felt like lead and my head ached so much I thought it was going to explode. I felt his arms around me helping me out of the tub and onto a stool. He carefully dried me off and put me back to bed.

“Mr. Holmes?”

“I think he is going to be fine now Mrs. Hudson. Let’s let him get some real sleep and we will see where we are in the morning.”

“You need some sleep yourself Mr. Holmes. You will wear yourself into a sickbed if you don’t take care.”

“I know Mrs. Hudson. Bring me up some supper and some broth for Watson please and I promise I will get some sleep.”

I felt myself fading back into the darkness but it felt different. I didn’t feel like I was burning up and the headache was fading.

I awoke the next morning to find Mrs. Hudson at my bedside.

“Dr. Watson?” she asked rather tentatively.

I nodded and croaked, “How long?”

“Seven days,” she answered, “You have been abed for a week and out of your mind for most of that time.”

“Where’s Holmes?”

“Out. He checked you over yesterday afternoon and declared that he needed to do other things rather than wait for you to wake up. He hasn’t been back since.”

I tried to sit up but felt a weak as a newborn kitten. Mrs. Hudson helped me get to a seated position.

“You need to rest Doctor. Do you think you can eat?”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson perhaps some tea and toast?”

She smiled and patted my leg, “Coming right up.”

I ate tentatively waiting to see what my stomach might do. Much to my relief, it stayed down. With Mrs. Hudson’s help I found myself moving slowly around the flat and able to take care of my personal business in the toilet rather than the chamber pot. I ate another meal of egg and toast and went back to bed for the first night’s fever free sleep.

It took me a couple of days to get myself back to feeling normal. Mrs. Hudson helped me where she could. 

On the morning of the third day of my convalescents, we had a visitor in the form of Inspector Gregson.

“It is good to see you up and around Dr. Watson. My wife and I said a prayer for your recovery.”

“Thank you Inspector. What brings you by? It was not to check up on my health.”

“I was wondering if you knew were Mr. Holmes was.”

I shook my head, “I haven’t seen him since my fever broke. I believe he is out working on a case.”

Gregson nodded, “Yes, he is helping the police to look into a delicate matter. I was supposes to meet him yesterday but he didn’t show which is unusual for him. No note either.”

“Which is highly unusual,” I said. Holmes always sent a note through his street urchins if he was on the hunt and unable to attend. A cold feeling started in the pit of my stomach and Gregson articulated what I was thinking.

“Doctor Watson, I am afraid that something happened to Mr. Holmes.”


	3. The Facts of the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson tried to discover what happened to Sherlock Holmes

I sat down hard on the chair behind me, as my legs seem to have gone numb.

“Doctor Watson? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Can you tell what you know?”

The facts of the case were these.

Holmes had been hired by an auction house to look into some irregularities that had happened.

While he was working on that case, he had discovered that there was a gang that had been flooding the market with fakes of various painters that were much sought after in the art market. 

He had told Gregson what he had found which was not much but Holmes hadn’t given up on sorting out who was responsible. He did know that at least one person at the auction house had to be involved if not more.

Shortly after that the first Art murder happened. The killer had created a horrific tableau based on the Martyrdom of St. Sebastian by Andrea Mantegna.

Since then there had been two more murders with the killer recreating famous painting with the bodies. 

The papers had been having a field day and Gregson had been trying to keep the details out of the press.

Holmes had believed that some how the fake paintings and the murders were connected. He had messaged Gregson that he was close to a solution and for Gregson to meet up with Holmes in the Soho at the auction house.

That had been two days ago. Holmes hadn’t made the meeting. The auction house hadn’t a clue where Holmes was. It was if he had stepped out the back door and vanished.

Holmes vanishing was not too unusual but Holmes vanishing without anyone, being me, knowing what happened was.

Gregson left with promises of telling me anything that might help.

I got dressed quickly and made my way through the city hoping to find one of Holmes’ Baker Street Irregulars. I happened upon Wiggins just as he was trying to swipe some fruit from a cart. I saw the cart owner grab his sleeve and shake him rather hard.

“You! You have stolen your last fruit! I will make sure you are taken to where you won’t steal anything again!”

I stepped up and pulled out my wallet, “Ah Wiggins. So have you picked out what you want?”

I turned to the owner, “So how much do I owe you good sir?”

He looked at me suspiciously until Wiggins said, “Doctor Watson, I was gonna get a couple of apples and pears for me and the lads.”

“Why don’t you get an orange or two while you are at it,” I said.

The owner wrapped up the fruit and I paid for it. He tried to hand it to me but I shook my head and pointed at Wiggins.

“Thank you for your patronage,” said the fruit seller through gritted teeth.

Wiggins doffed his cap and gave a slight bow, “You are most welcome.”

We walked on for a bit.

Wiggins handed me the bag, “Thank you Doctor Watson.”

I handed the bag back to him, “Wiggins I need your help. Let’s put the fruit as partial payment for your efforts.”

“You’ve done me a good turn so I will do the same.”

“It is simple. Have you seen Holmes in the past couple of days?”

“No sir I haven’t.”

“When is the last time you saw him?”

“About a day ago or so. He asked me to get some of the gang and follow some gents around without bein’ caught.”

“So you saw him yesterday?”

“Naw, I think the day before but it wasn’t me but little Timmy who passed on the information.”

“Do you know where little Timmy is right now?”

“Might be hanging down by the London Zoo. He loves watching the animals especially the snakes…May I ask why you need to see him Doctor Watson?”

I debated what to tell the lad and decided that the truth would probably be the best thing for it.

“Mr. Holmes has gone missing.”

Wiggins’ eyes widened and then the cocky mask he wore on his face in public went back up, “Well, maybe we should find him.”

We grabbed a cab and went to the zoo.

I paid our fee and we made beeline to the reptile house and, as he had supposed, we found little Timmy in front of the snakes.

Little was not the word I would use to describe Timmy. He was close to Holmes’ height but couldn’t have been more than 12 or 13 years of age.

“Yeah, I saw him two days ago down in Soho,” said Timmy, “I gave him the information just the way you told me to Billy. He asked me a couple of questions and paid me for my time. Asked me to go to Baker Street this morning and meet him there if I had any more information for him but I didn’t so I didn’t go.”

“Did he give you any idea where he might be going?”

“Yah, he muttered something about needing clean socks and to check on Dr. Watson so I thought he was going home.”

So somewhere between Soho and Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes had vanished.

I thanked the lads and gave them some money for their time.

I went back to Baker Street and sent a message to Gregson asking him to come by Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson had lunch ready so I ate and awaited for a reply from Gregson if not the man himself.

I found myself dozing in my chair still recovering from the events of the past week or so when I heard a rap at the door.

“Come in.”

Mrs. Hudson came in with Gregson right behind her. She gave me a look of concern and gestured towards Gregson, “Inspector Gregson, sir.”

“Any news?” I asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” said Gregson taking the chair I had gestured to.

I shook my head, “No, I found out that he was in Soho two days ago and getting ready to come home according to the lad I talked to. Something happened to him after that meeting.”

“Do you know where that was?”

“Yes, outside the back of the auction house on Wellington.”

“Well it is a place to start. Let me grab a couple of my men and we will meet you there.”

I agreed and went upstairs to get my revolver and my medical kit.


	4. The Game is Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson searches for the Missing Holmes

I found myself with Gregson and two other officers carefully going over the alley where Holmes was last seen.

I tried to use the methods that Holmes used but it was apparent that the ground was trampled since whatever happened to Holmes.

It was Stewart who found the piece of torn paper that had been stuffed between in a hole in the masonry. In Holmes’ handwriting was scribbled the word Jolly Jack.

Jolly Jack was a tavern just on the outskirts of Whitechapel on the bad side. I knew that Holmes had engaged rooms there a while back as a bolt hole if he needed it. I didn’t think that Gregson needed to know this information so I shrugged when he asked if it meant anything to me.

Later that afternoon I summoned Wiggins to Baker Street and sent him to the tavern to see if Holmes was there. He came back with no news of Holmes but that there was an envelope there behind the counter with my name on it. The tavern owner would not give it to him so I went to fetch it myself. I dressed down a bit and put my revolver where I could get to it easily. I also strapped a knife to my ankle hoping I would not need it. 

I had the cabbie drop me off a ways from the tavern and made my way there keeping a hand on my wallet.

I entered the tavern and went to the bar. The owner Angelo recognized me immediately.

“Ah John, I was expecting you. Sherlock left you this.”

He passed me a large packet with my name on it. He handed me a key and nodded upstairs. I went to Holmes’ room and let myself in. On one of the tables was his make-up kit. On the bed a variety of clothing that he used for various disguises. 

I cleared a spot on the bed and opened the envelope. I pulled out clippings from the art murders with Holmes’ notes in the margin. There were a couple of sheets of paper with his notes from the art forgery case. I spread everything out and started to read. I had lost track of time when I heard a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

“Sir, my master would like to know if you would care for dinner this evening.”

“Tell him yes and with my thanks. I’ll be down in a bit.”

I started to put the papers I had been reading together when a piece of paper dropped out of the stack.

I picked it up and found on it a list of names. I recognized one or two as well known patron of the arts. There were a number of names circled with question marks next to them. One name had an exclamation point, Mr. John Copper. I pocketed the list and went downstairs to eat.

As I was finishing up I saw Shinwell Johnson enter the tavern. He saw me and quickly came over to my small table.

“Doctor Watson? Why are ya down here with the muck?”

“I am looking for Holmes.”

“He’s gone missing?”

“For several days now.”

“Ain’t like he hasn't done this before. Probably hard on a case.”

“This was different. He missed several appointments.”

“Ah that’s not like Mr. Holmes at all. Do ya know where he last was?”

“In Soho.”

“So why are ya looking in Whitechapel?”

I glanced towards Angelo without realizing it.

“He left ya something here,” said Johnson settling back in his seat.

I nodded. 

“Well I’ll pass the word around to the lads and see if we can’t uncover him. But if he doesn’t want to be found…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence because we both knew that he wouldn’t be found.

I finished up my supper and bought Johnson a meal and a couple of pints as well. I went back to Baker Street to find a message from Gregson to come by the station house as soon as possible.

It was late but I went down to find Gregson in his office with a bundle on his desk.

He pointed to the bundle which turned out to be a jumble of clothing. I recognized the pocketwatch first and then the suit.

“These are Holmes’ things. Where ever did you find them?”

“Whitechapel in a bin. One of Holmes’ lads saw them and brought them to our attention. He recognized the pocket watch and the chain.”

“Is anything missing?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.”

I went through the bundle and informed Gregson that all his clothing was here. What sent a chill through my bones was the evidence that these clothes didn’t come off without a struggle and there was blood on the shirt and the vest.

I pulled out the list of names that Holmes had made.

“I found this among Holmes’ papers. Do any of these names mean anything to you?”

Gregson looked the list over and his eyes widened, “This has the names of the murdered art dealers on it.”

“Art Dealers?”

“One of the few things we have managed to keep out of the papers. Each of the victims had connections to the art world and dabbled in the selling and buying of art as go betweens.”

“What about the one with the exclamation point?”

“Copper? He’s a new one.”

“Dealer?”

“Name.”

I could see we were both wondering what Mr. Copper had to do with any of this.

“Can you show me where the clothing was found?”

I found myself in the back of the police van with Gregson and the two policemen that had searched the alley behind the auction house.

The bin was in back of a house of ill-reputed. Once they convinced the owner that this was not a raid but a missing person’s case, she was much more cooperative but didn’t have any information for us.

As we were leave one of the girls plucked at my sleeve.

“Ya a cop?”

“No. I am looking for my missing…friend.” I had almost out of habit said Master but this was not the time or the place.

“Two nights ago I heard shouting from the back. I peeked out the curtains and saw four men in the alley. Two of them was holding a gent while the other one was punching him and smacking him something fierce. I thought it was a bookie trying to get his money out of the man. They knocked him unconscious and took off his clothes. I thought they were going to take his clothes as payment but they binned the clothes and took the naked man. I overheard one of the men saying that he was the right type for his next masterpiece in two days time.”

“Can you describe these men?”

“Naw I only saw the top of their heads. They were wearing hats.”

“Which way did they take the man?”

“Down Fordham street as far as I could see.”

I started down Fordham trying to find any trace of what had happened two days before but there didn’t seem to be any sign of Holmes or the blaggards who had taken him. I came to the end of the street and found myself looking at two churches in a slightly better part of Whitechapel. 

For some reason that I will never understand I found myself going to the door of the Church of St. Andrews. I noticed that the lock on the door had been forced. Gregson came up behind me and drew out his revolver and we carefully crept in. 

There in the candle light we saw a man crucified on a wood cross with two men crucified on crosses on either side of him. The men on either side were dead and the pool of blood was vast over the chapel floor. 

My mind went numb when my brain realized that the man in the middle was Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could use some feedback on this one. Like it or don't like it? 
> 
> Want to know what happens next?
> 
> I am kinda foundering here.


	5. For Want of a Nail

Layton was able to move first. He gingerly made his way to the cross the Holmes as strung up on. He put a hand on the femoral artery.

“He’s Alive!” he exclaimed and the paralysis that seem to have seized us vanished.

We quickly realized that we were going to have to take down the cross with Holmes on it first. He had been tied to the cross, which kept him from probably dying of affixation. They had nailed through the gap in the wrists rather than through the hands and had bent the nails on the other side. Gregson commented that was probably how Christ had been really crucified. His feet were nailed next to each other. There was a stab wound to his chest that has not, thank G-d, pierced his heart but I was concerned about his lung. 

Stewart found a ladder that had been tossed to the side and set it up behind the cross. The cross was nailed to a series of wooden beams with a rope going from a hook on the top of the cross over the beam of the church. This gave it stability. Gregson found a hammer that had been casually tossed to the side. He worked the nails free as I held the base Holmes’ feet was nailed to. Stewart and Layton were on either side of the ladder holding the crossbar. 

Holmes showed no sign of consciousness but I could see his labored breath as his body tried to keep him alive. I could feel blood dripping onto my hands and my head. I looked up at his back and could see that he had been whipped and beaten very badly. 

I didn’t know if he was in shock or something worse. I put my fears in the back of my brain and went into soldier doctor mode just like when I had been back in the thick of what happened in Afghanistan. 

“That’s got it. Now Stewart, if Watson and I pick this up a bit, Can you undo the rope?”

“I think so Sir,” Steward adjusted so his left arm supported the crossbar and his right hand was free. 

Gregson stood in front of the cross and looked at me. I nodded.

“On three then…One…Two… Three.”

And we lifted Holmes and the cross up getting the end out of it’s base. It was heavy but we managed it. 

“OK rope is free.”

“We need to walk this down carefully again on three and shout out if there is any problem.” 

We slowly walked forward tipping the end of the cross out until the two men managed to walk themselves down the ladder. 

We had to walk with it almost to the vestibule to get a piece of floor that was not covered in blood and had enough room to put the cross dwon.

Gregson pulled his knife from the sheath he kept in by his side and handed it to me.

“Why hasn’t anyone come in?” asked Stewart.

We looked at each other.

Gregson said, “I want you two to go find out what happened to the caretaker but be careful. And once you do that, go to the local station and find us some transport and something to use as a stretcher. Oh and go get the Doctor’s bag from the whorehouse.” 

I had forgotten that I had left it there in the mad dash to find Holmes.

They left us with Holmes’ body. Gregson brought some candles over so we could see clearly what we were doing.

“Do you have your pistol on you Dr. Watson?”

“The one I am not supposes to have on me?”

“The very one.”

I handed it over to him.

“I’ll get it back to you later. See to Holmes.”

Gregson waited for orders. I checked Holmes over before doing anything. 

There were scourge marks on both his back and front. There was evidence of a serious beating or two in the bruises that covered his body. I tried to figure out how to get the nails out of his wrists and feet and came to the conclusion that I was going to have to pull his limbs forward to get him free of the cross, which would create more damage that there already was. I was strangely grateful that he was not awake. 

I removed the crown of thorns from his head first which was difficult because there was a metal ring that had been used to keep his head up in place for the tableau that had been created. I cut the rope that had been used to tie it in place on the cross. Gregson took off his jacket and offered it to me to put under Holmes’ head. I rolled it up and put it under his head and neck. 

I tried to figure out the swiftest way to free Holmes without causing more damage to his body. 

“I’ll hold his arm while you cut the ropes.”

Stewart entered, “I found the caretaker. He was tied up in a cupboard. We freed him and told him to go lay down and we would get the Doctor to check on him. Layton is with him.”

“Your timing is good. Get to the other side of the crossbar and help Gregson hold his arm still,” I said.

He did as ordered and I cut the bindings to Holmes’ right arm. I took his hand and arm in my hands.

“We are going to have to lift up on this together to free his arm.”

“On three then...one…two…three.”

I pulled up ripping flesh as I freed his arm. Holmes’ groaned and tried to pull away but he couldn’t. 

We did the same with the other arm and his feet. I put my coat on the floor and we placed him on it. Stewart took his uniform jacket and covered Holmes. 

I removed my shirt and started tearing it into to strips to bandage Holmes’ bleeding wounds. 

“Stewart, go get help. I’ll assist Dr. Watson here.”

My mind was totally focused on Holmes and assessing how bad his wounds were. There was a tap on my shoulder and Layton handed me my bag. I opened it up and pulled out what I needed. 

Holmes started to stir.

“You’re safe,” I said quietly in his ear, “Master, I am here. You are safe.”

He seemed to settle and was trying to open his eyes. It was only then that I noticed what looked like burns on his face around his mouth and nose. He had been drugged with either ether or chloroform or some other sort of soporific.

I checked his arms and found the telling bruises of injection sites that were new. 

I now had a problem. I couldn’t give him any sort of painkillers until whatever was in his system was out or I risked killing him. 

His lips were moving. I leaned over to catch the sound.

“No hospital.”

“Holmes you are seriously injured.”

“No hospital. Home.”

“What did he say?” asked Gregson.

“He doesn’t want a hospital. He wants to go home.”

“Does he need a hospital?”

“I can take care of him.”

Honestly I wasn’t sure that I could keep him safe in a hospital considering all the open wounds. The puncture to his side wasn’t as bad as I had thought. They had hit a rib, which was going to hurt, but his lungs were not injured. 

While I patched up Holmes, Gregson had examined the other two bodies who hadn’t faired as well. They had both their throats slit and their legs broken. He made notes of what he saw. I was too focused on Holmes.

Layton came back in, “Dr. Watson, can you look over Mr. Jones? I want him to be able to go to sleep but I am worried about the blow to the head that he took.”

Gregson said, “I’ll watch over Holmes.”

I leaned over and said in Holmes’ ear, “I will be back. Gregson is here. You are safe.”

Holmes managed to get an eye open and he looked at me. He gave a brief nod giving me permission to go. He seemed to slip back into unconsciousness. 

I followed Layton into the rectory where the caretaker was laying on the couch. I gave him a carefully once over. The knot on his head was troubling but he was not showing the symptoms of head trauma. I cleaned and bandaged the rope burns on his wrists and ankles.

“Layton, do you know if someone can stay with him?”

Almost on cue the charwoman arrived. We explained the situation and that no one should go into the church.

I gave her credit for being of stern stuff as she did not go into hysterics but nodded and went to make tea for everyone.

By the time I went back into the church, there were officers from the local office. Someone had gotten a stretcher and we carefully loaded Holmes who was becoming more aware of his situation and his pain.

The ride back to Baker Street was horrific as I could tell how much pain Holmes was in but I knew that I couldn’t do anything about it. I returned the coats that had been used to keep Holmes warm and we got him to his bed. 

Mrs. Hudson looked horrified as they brought him in. I was just wearing my trousers and vest as my coat and jacket were being used to keep Holmes warm and my shirt had bandaged his wounds. I was still very concerned about Holmes going into shock. 

“Mrs. Hudson, can you bring me warm water, clean towels, and some bandages?”

She nodded and put on her stoic face.

I closed the door and went to Holmes room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one to write and I hope I did it justice.


	6. A Stitch in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson goes into Doctor mode and Mrs. Hudson is helpful.

I had them put Holmes on his stomach so I could tend to the injuries on his back, which I had been unable to do in the church. I was horrified at the viciousness of the marks that covered his torso, legs, and buttocks. None were deep enough to need stitches but I had concerns about the inflammation of some of the wounds. Infection was a really concern for me.

I checked the nail wounds that I had to do more injury to Holmes to get him free of that bloody cross he was nailed to. These had to be stitched as they were still bleeding. 

I heard the door open.

“Mrs. Hudson in the bedroom please.”

She entered with a basin of water and a bag slung over her shoulder. She put the water down on the bedside table and pulled towels and bandages out next to the basin.

She looked at his back, “Some sort of scourge from the marks.”

“We found him crucified in a church with two other men.”

A look of horror came over Mrs. Hudson’s face, “Why isn’t he in a hospital?”

“You know how he is. He insisted in coming home.”

“I think I have something that will help. I’ll be right back.”

Holmes stirred with a moan. He was fighting whatever was in his system but I needed him to stay under so I could attend to his torn flesh.

“You are home Master. You are safe. It is just Mrs. Hudson and myself.”

He seemed to relax a bit and drift back to sleep or unconsciousness. 

I washed my hands and dumped the water into the chamber pot. I poured clean water from the pitcher that was next to the basin and took one of the clean towels. I gently cleaned the wounds on his back trying to get all the dirt and debris out. He shift under but didn’t pull away. 

I heard Mrs. Hudson enter. She placed a jar next to the basin. 

“Here, this is what I use on your back after he is done with you.”

I took the salve and placed it carefully on the worst of the wounds on his back. I knew from experience that this would numb him a bit and keep the wounds clean.

Mrs. Hudson grabbed the basin and the pitcher, “I’ll have these back shortly.”

I nodded, “Then I am going to need your help stitching him up.”

I went to his feet to wipe them down and examined the damage. These had pulled rather clean. They would only need a stitch or two. The problem would be how long before he could put any weight on them without the stitches tearing.

Mrs. Hudson re-entered with the refilled basin and the pitcher. 

“What do you need me to do?”

“Do you want to hold or sew?” I trusted Mrs. Hudson’s ability to close wounds as much as my own.

“Hold. Can you give him anything?”

“No. I have to wait for whatever concoction is in his system to pass before I dare.”

We made it through the right wrist without any problem. Halfway through the left he came to rather violently and tried to roll over. 

“Holmes! You need to stay still! I need to stitch you up. Please!”

He seemed to come back to himself and nodded. I watched him steel himself for the needle. Mrs. Hudson talked quietly in his ear as I finished up the back of the wrist. He passed out before I finished. We quickly did his feet each of us taking one. I bandaged over the stitched. 

Mrs. Hudson covered his lower half with a sheet leaving his upper back exposed where most of the damage was. 

“Dr. Watson, I’ll watch him. You get some sleep or you will be good for nothing. If anything changes, I will come and get you.”

“I’ll kip out on the couch so I am in shouting distance.”

I pulled a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and went to my room to get clean clothes. I quickly washed up and redressed myself. 

I checked on Holmes one more time. I could feel my body start to complain about how long I had been running on just adrenaline. 

I lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket up. I didn’t feel my head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one to write and having fooled with it for a couple of days now I decided to just put it out there for you the reader.
> 
> I hope you will continue to read and I hope I am not being too obscure with this.
> 
> Comments and Kudos do help and I sincerely appreciate everyone who has taken the time to comment on this story.


	7. Unseen Wounds

I was pulled out of a sound sleep by the calling of my name.

“Doctor Watson! Come here now!”

I stood up without knowing I had stood up which caused me to almost fall but I staggered towards the noise.

I found Mrs. Hudson trying to keep Holmes from getting up and doing a good job of it.

He was muttering something that I couldn’t catch but it seemed important to him. 

I rushed to his side and helped Mrs. Hudson restrain him.

She looked at me with panic in her eyes and said, “He’s not in his right mind.”

I checked quickly and ruled out infection for the time being. I was praying that this might remain the case.

“It’s the drugs,” she said with the weight of knowledge in her voice, “I have seen this before. He uses to do some strange experiments on himself before you arrived. Boredom he called it. Self-destruction says I. His mind is everything to him and it is tearing him to pieces right now.”

I considered the options that I had right at the moment. Drugging Holmes very well might kill him but if we didn’t get him to stop thrashing about, he was going to reinjure himself or go into shock from the pain. I prayed that I was not killing him as I prepared a shot of morphine. Finding a vein while he was trying to tear himself away from me was hard but I final got the needle to slide home and in a short time he relaxed and stopped fighting us. 

“We need to confine him before he comes to again Mrs. Hudson. Go up to my room and get me my restraints. They are in the bottom of my wardrobe.”

She went and got them for me along with a couple of coils of rope. I hadn’t held them except to clean and oil them in a while since Holmes rarely used them on me preferring the self-discipline of not moving. The few times that he did use them, it had not gone well for me.

I carefully buckled them on to his wrists and ankles. If anything they would help keep the bandages in place around his wrists so that seemed a good thing. Mrs. Hudson tied him off to the bed with her practiced hand. 

“Mrs. Hudson, I suggest you get some sleep now. I’ll take the night shift.” I sat down in the chair that was next to Holmes’ bed.

“Very good Doctor Watson, shall I bring you up something to eat before I retire?”

“Thank you. That would be nice and some water and broth for Holmes I think if we have it.”

She nodded and then looked at the figure in the bed, “Take care of him John. He means the world to me.” She patted my shoulder on her way out.

I carefully watched his breathing looking for any sign that things were going wrong. He was muttering something. I could see his lips moving but he was not pushing any sound out. 

I couldn’t stand the thought of losing another Master considering what I had gone through the first time. I found myself touching my shoulder where the scars of that tragic day still abide. That Holmes had found me was a miracle. That he wanted me to serve him was a gift I would never be able to repay but I would try my hardest to do so. 

I sat back waiting with patience like I had been taught by my trainers. It had seemed a lifetime ago that I had been accepted in their house and given my fealty to them as my father and mother had done before me. We were born to serve and in our service found peace and happiness. 

But Holmes had become more than just a contract to me. In a short time he had become my whole world. We knew what each other needed before either party spoke. I had thought, considering what happened during the war, that I would never find that sort of connection again in my lifetime but here it was breathing shallowly in front of me.

I stood up and checked his vital signs again then gently smoothed his hair back in place. 

A knock on the parlor door interrupted my musings. I left the door opened to Holmes’ room so I could hear and opened the door to find Gregson and Layton standing there.

“Good Morning Doctor Watson. How is Mr. Holmes?”

“He is resting,” I said in a low voice, “Can I help you?”

“Ah, well that’s a good thing. We have some more information on the two dead men we found with Mr. Holmes. Neither of them were very nice men.”

I gestured for the two men to enter. I got my notebook and pencil to take notes for Holmes and offered them a seat. They sat down next to each other on the couch. I found their body language rather interesting but did not comment on it. 

“So who were these men?”

Layton took out a small notebook of his own and passed it onto Gregson who handed it back and said, “You tell him. I have a hard time reading your handwriting.”

“Well sir the two men have been identified as John Hornsby and Richard Hammer. They were both under suspicion of being the muscle for a gang of human traffickers. I was able to discover that Hammer had worked for a time at the brothel that Mr. Holmes was attacked behind but he had moved on.”

“Might be the reason they took Mr. Holmes there,” said Gregson, “He knew the territory.”

“Mr. Hornsby was about to be taken in for questioning on a counterfeit operation. But he had eluded authorities.”

Something tickled in my memory. I got up and went into Holmes’ room to find my coat not where I had left it but the contents had been placed on the table next to Holmes’ bed. I picked up the list I had found at Jolly Jack’s and brought it back out into the parlor. I had remembered correctly and both names were there. I handed the list to Gregson who remembered seeing it before but now that these men’s names were on there, he was much more interested in it. Layton copied the names into his notebook and Gregson handed the list back to me.

“So Mr. Holmes knew about these two men,” said Gregson.

“Apparently so,” I said.

“How is Mr. Holmes?” asked Layton.

“He’s…” I was cut off by a hoarse cry from the bedroom. I was up and in the room before I knew my feet were moving.

“No, no, no, “ came the chant from the man trying to free himself.

“Holmes! You’re safe. You’re home!” I shouted trying to calm him down but Holmes was caught in whatever nightmare he could see in front of him. 

Gregson and Layton were at the doorway looking aghast at the scene in front of them.

“Holmes! You are going to tear your stitches. Please calm down.”

Somehow he had gotten one of the ropes loose on his wrist restraints and he tried to push himself up with that hand. Gregson stepped in and grabbed the wrist holding it down to the bed while Layton tied it off.

Holmes babbled in fear and terror. I tried everything I could to calm him down. Eventually I had to resort to drugs again as much as it pained my heart to do so. 

Holmes passed out leaving the three of us trying to catch our breaths and our minds. 

I was trying to figure out how I was going to explain the leather restraints to them.

“I guess these are left over from that case at the madhouse that Holmes worked on for me about a year ago,” said Gregson, “Good thing he hangs on to such items.”

Relief filled my being and I looked at Gregson who gave a slight shake of the head as if to say not now. 

Layton asked, “Maybe he would be more comfortable on his back?”

“Not with those marks,” said Gregson, “he was flogged within an inch of his life from the looks of it. Better to let those heal a bit before letting him turn over.”

I looked at Gregson who said, “Navy when I was a lad.” 

There was much more to Gregson than I had been lead to believe. 

“Layton, I think we should take this up in a couple of days when Holmes can join us in our discussion. Doctor Watson, I suggest that you get in touch with me at the Yard when you think the time is right.” 

Layton left but Gregson stayed behind a moment.

I could tell that he had something to tell me but was trying to figure out how to tell me. I waited for him to compose his thoughts.

“There is something else you need to know Doctor. Each of the crosses had the ‘list’ of their crimes nailed to it. I managed to get this before the rest of the police showed up.”

He handed me a scrolled piece of wood and on it was burned ‘Pride, Arrogance, Wrath, Immodesty, Sodomite.” 

“I figured it would not be good if this was seen” he said quietly, “I know that you and Holmes have an….understanding and it would do neither of you any good if it were to be revealed.” 

He gave me a formal bow and left me standing there holding the sign with Holmes’ crimes listed and more questions forming about the man who handed it to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this. I have been enjoying the conversations I have been having.
> 
> Yes, I know there is cryptic stuff in here but there will be explanations for it through out.
> 
> Also the real first story in this series is being published in the anthology No Safewords II either later this year or beginning of next. It is entitled "the adventure of the bowing doctor"
> 
> I treasure every comment and every kudos I have been given.


	8. The Man who wasn't There

Over the next couple of days Holmes’ body started to heal but I grew more and more concerned about his brilliant mind. 

It seemed that the body lived but the mind contained had either vanished or been seriously damaged. He would drink or eat if something was put to his lips. But the eyes were vacant and unseeing. 

When he was sleeping or what passed for sleep, we had to restrain him to keep him from injuring himself. He was caught in a nightmare and couldn’t escape. Mrs. Hudson and I could only weep at the sounds he made of pain and terror.

I did not know if it was what he had experienced at the hands of a madman or the drugs that had coursed through his system or some unknown injury that had caused damage. What I did know is that the longer this went on, the more frightening it became and the biggest fear was that this was all that was left of the great Sherlock Holmes.

We had managed to avoid infection so the wounds were slowly healing. We could allow him to sleep on his back or side now. The wounds to his wrist and feet were more troubling. They continued to bleed even with all I had done to stop it. It was like he had picked up stigmata from his ordeal. 

I had Wiggins summon a fellow Doctor and surgeon Lord Willingham who was an owner himself. He or his servants could be called on for discrete care for injuries that would be hard to explain to others.

I waited in the parlor while he examined Holmes praying that I missed something that he would see to bring Holmes back to himself. Mrs. Hudson was assisting as I didn’t want to give him any of my thoughts or theories until after he had seen Holmes.

He came back out snapping his bag shut and said over his shoulder, “Thank you Mrs. Hudson.”

He sat down across from me and said “John.”

“Brian,” I replied, “What did you find?”

He shook his head, “It is rather horrific what was done to him but I do not think that is the reason for the state he is in. Or rather it may have lead to it but I can’t see any reason that this is continuing. He was drugged?”

“Yes. When we found him there were both marks on his arms and chemical burns on his face.”

“And you administer?”

“Morphine for the pain he was in and to calm him so he would not re-injure himself.”

“You have no idea what he had been given?”

I shook my head.

“What’s your worse fear in this?”

“Brain damage,” I said very quietly.

“Excuse me? I didn’t hear that,” he said quite firmly.

“Brain damage,” I said louder, “Brain damage dammit. I fear that I furthered this situation by adding more drugs to his system but I didn’t have a choice. He was in such pain and…” I could feel the tears form in my eyes and start to fall down my face. I had tried so hard and now I didn’t know what to think except I had failed my Master.

He let me weep for a bit before handing me a handkerchief and giving a few moments to compose myself.

“When is the last time you really slept John?”

“Before all this happened.”

“Mrs. Hudson said that you were recovering from a bout of influenza.”

I nodded.

“And you figured that running yourself into the ground much less Mrs. Hudson was serving any purpose other than to harm your Master’s property?”

I looked up at him with defiance.

“Well I am not the one to beat that look off your face however I will do this for yourselves and your Master. You will take this draught and go to bed. You will sleep until you wake up. Then you will take care of yourself before even thinking of returning to that room.” He pointed to Holmes’ bedroom, “And if you think that you can avoid this, I’ll have Wilson sit on your chest while I pour it down your throat.”

“Who will take care of Holmes?”

“I will have Wilson and one of his students to look after Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson is under the same orders. Neither of you is of any use to him in this condition.”

He held out the draft, “Drink this and then go lie down. I promise I will get you if anything changes.”

I did as ordered and took comfort in doing so. 

As I left the parlor he said, “You know I am going to have to tell Mycroft.”

I nodded and continued up the stairs to my room. I undressed and got under the covers. I fell asleep with creeping dread in my bones as to what Mycroft’s reaction might be to all that had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can see where this is going.


	9. My Brother's Keeper

I slept like the dead. No dreams or nightmare interrupted my slumber. I awoke to find a glass of water at my nightstand. I drank the water and got up stretching carefully. As per my orders, I attending to my toiletry and dress before coming downstairs to find a lovely breakfast laid out for me. 

Wilson came out of Holmes’ room with a basin and a tray. He saw me and nodded.

“Let me get rid of this and I will be right with you,” he said in a low voice, “He’s asleep right now.”

I nodded and waiting for his return.

“First there has been no change in his condition. I have clean and redressed his wounds. He drank some broth but I am concerned that the broth will not sustain him much longer. He has lost weight that he can ill afford to lose. I have some concerns that he might still have some metal from the nails in the wounds, which is not allowing them to heal.”

“I had to pull his hands and feet forward on the nails to get him free of the cross.”

“What were the conditions of the nails? Do you remember?”

I thought back to that horrid night, “They were more spikes than nails. There may have been rust on them but there was so much blood, I really couldn’t say.”

Wilson sighed, “That’s not good. We are going to have to clean those wounds again to get any of the debris out of them. Also I fear he may have tetanus considering the condition of his jaw.”

My heart sank. Tetanus could be a death sentence for Holmes unless we could do something for it before it killed him.

Wilson saw my face and he put a hand on top of my hand in comfort, “First we have to see to those wounds and make sure they are clean. Then we will work through the next problem Doctor.”

I nodded. I mentally put myself in my Doctor role. 

“My master will be here in an hour or so. I need to go back to the surgery and get what we need to clean the wounds unless you have what I need here. Lord Willingham wants you to second on this.”

I handed him my key to my offices, “Get what you need from there just please take note of what you are using so I can replace it. Can I go sit with him?”

He nodded and said, “Feel free to examine him if he is awake. A second opinion is not going to hurt anyone’s feelings here. Our goal is Holmes’ wellbeing.”

I entered Holmes’ room to find Wilson’s assistant Foreman finishing up a sponge bath for Holmes. 

“The wounds on his back are much better,” he said, “Most of them are well on the way to healing. You must tell us what is in that salve you used.”

“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Hudson. It is something of her own concoction I believe but it has helped me immensely over the years.”

He pulled up the sheets and blanket over Holmes’ slumbering form.

“I would like to get rid of a few things. Could you watch him?”

I nodded as my eyes had not left Holmes. I looked carefully at his jaw and thought I could see some tightening there. I sat down and took his hand in mine. It felt warm but not feverish. I raised it to my cheek.

“Holmes, if you ever do this to me again I won’t promise for my behavior. You have to pull through this. You know that without you I am nothing. I have already lost one Master and I would really like not to lose a second especially one that knows me better than I know myself.”

I thought I felt his hand squeeze mine but I was not sure if it was a reflexive or voluntary move.

Mrs. Hudson came in to gather the dirty linens and other items that were to be discarded. She placed a hand on my shoulder and gave a light squeeze then went about her business. 

Foreman started setting up things for cleaning Holmes’ nail wounds with Mrs. Hudson’s help. 

Lord Willingham arrived with Wilson and we got to work. It was long and it was messy but in the end we did find small pieces of particulate matter in the wounds that could be the cause of their inability to heal and continued bleeding. With each piece our tetanus and infection concerns grew. 

We finished up and re-bandaged the wounds. 

Now all for it was to wait for Holmes to recover from the drugs we had given him so we could operate. 

“John, there is an experimental treatment for tetanus that has worked well. There are some dangers with it but I am concerned about Holmes’ health if we don’t do anything for him. It is obvious by the muscle contractions we had to deal with while cleaning the wounds. You know this is just going to get worse as it progresses.”

I had the evidence in front of me and I had hoped I had read the signs wrong but apparently I had been right. 

“Have you talked to Mycroft?”

“Other than to update him, no. He did give you blanket permission as his physician to do what you thought necessary.”

I weighted the options. Holmes’ body had already been through so much, I didn’t know how much more it could take. He had an iron constitution but even that couldn’t go on forever. 

“How safe is this treatment?”

“It has been used with some success but again it is experimental. It creates antibodies that counteract the neurotoxin that is in his system.”

I took in a deep breath and let it out, “Do it.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Brian, I have very little choice in the matter. He is probably going to die unless something can counteract the battle that is raging on in his body much less what is going on in his mind.”

He nodded, “These need to be a series of shots. I will show you what to do.”

We went back into the bedroom and started Holmes’ treatment.

The next couple of days were a bit of a blur. Wilson made sure that I got enough sleep and something to eat.

I was sitting down to lunch when I heard the heavy tread on the staircase leading to our rooms.

I stood up with my hands behind my back and my head lowered facing the door.

Mycroft entered with two servants following him. He glanced at me and went into his brother’s room. 

I heard the murmur of voices from the room and Mycroft came back into the parlor.

He looked at me and said, “Strip and present.”

I hesitated and found my ears ringing from the slap across my face.

“You know I so don’t like repeating myself.”

I quickly removed my clothing and placed it neatly on the chair behind me. I dropped to my knees and place my hands behind my head interlocking my fingers.

“You will explain to me ‘Doctor’ Watson why my brother is in this condition,” he said and sat down on our couch.

I shook my head trying to clear my thoughts when I felt the lash of a cane across my shoulders and I almost fell forward at the impact. Mycroft’s body servant had wielded the cane. 

“I am waiting and I can’t say that I am a very patience man this day.”

There was another blow from the cane for punctuation.

I gave him the diagnosis and what we had done to help his brother.

“But how did it come to this? You had your orders.”

I told him of what had happened over the past three weeks. Of my illness and Holmes’ impetuous behavior and the case Holmes had been working on.

“Not good enough Doctor. Present yourself for discipline. You should have known something was wrong. You should have found him sooner.”

He stood up and held out his hand for the cane.

“You will find no pleasure in the beating I am about to administer.”

I stood up and turned around. I put my hands on the chair’s arms in front of me after tucking my genitals forward to protect them from what was to come.

Mycroft was stronger than he looked and the fear and rage he had over the condition of his brother was evident to me as the blows rained down upon me. At some point I fell to my knees and tucked myself into a ball, which didn't slow down Mycroft in the least.

Only Holmes rising from his sickbed had stopped Mycroft from probably beating me to death in that room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK this chapter has been written and rewritten several times. I know I am playing fast and lose with some medical stuff here including when the treatment for tetanus was discovered but artistic license is such a lovely thing in fiction.
> 
> I decided to go with this version and put it out there to be read.
> 
> Next section is under way.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos. As always they encourage me to keep writing.
> 
> We will be getting back to the mystery soon along with Holmes' tale of what happened to him while he was gone.


	10. Not all Wounds Heal

I believed I passed out after I got in bed with Holmes. The pain through my body had shut down my brain.

At some point I came to. I kept my eyes closed and breathed through the pain. I heard two people talking softly. I realized that one was Sherlock. It took me a minute to work out that the other was Mycroft. Mycroft was seated so that Sherlock was between us. 

“Mycroft now do you see that this was not his fault? He has been working for both me and the public good. That he became ill was not something he planned to do. That I decided to work a case while he was recovering was my own decision. What happened to me would have probably happened if he had been at full health.”

“Why you dote on such a damaged man is beyond me.”

“He’s not damaged. He is magnificent.”

“You are in love with him.”

Sherlock chuckled, “In a way but not as you think Mycroft. It is not the romantic form in the least. We suit each other. He served my needs and I give him what he desires so he can feel complete.”

He reached a hand out and ran it through my hair.

“He was quite a find. . .Oh stop looking so smug. He’s not going to be of much use for a while.”

“It isn’t like I broke your toy.”

“But in a way you did. Could you hand me that glass of water?”

I heard the pitcher clink as it touched the glass and the water pour.

“Sherlock!?!?” 

I heard the glass drop on the floor.

“I am so sorry. I apparently am having some problems with my hands.”

My stomach dropped and I opened my eyes. He looked right at me and shook his head slightly. I closed my eyes again. 

I heard the door open and Mycroft summon some help to clean up the mess. 

They talked about several subjects including the case that Holmes had been working on. I was surprised to see how much the two did care for each other. Behind the bickering and banter was a brotherly bond that was strong.

Wilson entered with Holmes’ evening medication. Mycroft said his good-byes and left.

“You can open your eyes Watson. He’s gone for the evening. How bad is it?”

I tried to straighten out and groaned. My back felt like it was on fire. 

“Can you stand up?”

I tried and almost passed out from the pain.

“Wilson!” called Holmes. 

Wilson rushed into the room.

“Help Watson,” he said.

Wilson came around and saw my back. He gasped in horror but quickly recovered.

“Lay down on your stomach John,” Wilson said touching my shoulder gently but even that was too much for me. I yelped in pain. 

I did as commanded. Wilson carefully examined my back. 

“You may have a cracked rib or two. I have some concern about some of the blows near the kidneys. Tell us if you start pissing blood. It would not be a good idea for you to move far for a while. I can help you up to your bed.”

“No,” said Sherlock as he placed a hand protectively on my head, “He will stay here.”

“Sir, I am not sure that is the best idea.”

“Everyone here knows about us. Mrs. Hudson is my servant. You are Lord Willingham’s and we know you will not speak. We keep it within the family and we are safe.”

“What if someone else come by? Someone to check on you from the Yard? Or one of your street arabs? A client?”

“He..stays…here.”

“Yes sir.”

“Holmes, I can make it to my bed for propriety sake,” I said.

“No. You stay here. I won’t take the chance that Mycroft might not finish what he started. You belong to me Watson. I have already failed you.”

It all became clear to me. He was worried for my safety. I was touched. 

I could hear the fatigue in his voice.

I raised a hand and touched his hip, “Holmes go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He let out a sigh and let Wilson help him lay down. 

“Go to sleep Watson,” 

I did as I had been ordered.

The next day waking up was agony. Wilson helped me get up and to the toilet and then back to the bed. Holmes was waking up by the time we got back.

He looked a bit confused as he reached for where I had been on the bed but quickly realized what had happened. I found that I could sit on one hip without too much pain. Wilson offered pain medication but I refused. I deserved each wave of pain that swept through me. I had failed my owner.

Wilson checked Holmes over and gave him his morning injection. 

“You can be such a martyr at time John,” said Holmes as he tried to sit up. He cried out as he tried to support himself with his hand. I reached out to him only to match the sound he made as my back made me aware of the damaged it suffered.

Mrs. Hudson entered with some of my clothes, “I swear the two of you. What am I going to do with you both?”

Wilson helped me to dress and move to the parlor. He dressed Holmes and carried him to the table so we could eat breakfast.

I watched as Holmes’ hands shook as he tried to grasp the silverware.

“Damn and blast,” he cried as he dropped the fork from his fingers.

“Holmes you have to give yourself time to heal. Your body has gone through some rather serious trauma.”

He looked at me and I saw fear in his eyes. He was afraid that this was his new normal. That his hands might never recover. He might not be able to play his beloved violin or even feed himself. Holmes did not like to be beholden to anyone and now he was dependent.

I said very formally, “Master, I am here to serve.”

He nodded in reply and said, “I accept your service.”

I broke off a piece of toast, dipped it in the egg, and fed it to him. I proceeded to feed him the meal in front of him along with some tea and water. Any time someone entered the room we stopped and I ate my breakfast. By the time the tea was ice cold, he had eaten and drank more than he had in weeks.

Wilson settled him into his favorite overstuffed chair placing a blanket around his legs.

“I’m not a invalid!” Holmes declared.

“Sir I am under orders from my Master to take care of you as I see fit. Therefor I will do what I think necessary for your recovery and by the by right now you are an invalid.”

The door opened and Lord Willingham walked in with his body slave, “He’s right Sherlock. You are lucky to be alive.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. I had Watson.”

I blushed and Willingham chuckled.

He examined Holmes and declared him on the mend. The signs of tetanus he had been showing were gone. He was fever free. The wounds on his wrists and feet were finally healing. Neither of us could determine if there was nerve damage yet since his wounds had just started to heal but he tried to reassure Holmes that everything would be fine.

“Mr. Holmes, may I examine your slave? He was somewhat damaged yesterday from what I given to understand.”

Holmes gestured to me and nodded.

“But here in front of me,” said Holmes.

I sighed and carefully removed my clothes. Willingham’s body slave helped me with this since I could not move my body in certain directions without feeling like I was going to pass out from the pain. Once I had finished and turned around I heard a gasp come from the slave.

“He’s had worse,” said Holmes trying to make light of the situation, “Spare him no pity. The man is a total masochist.”

I stiffened slightly because this had been anything but pleasurable. But I knew that I deserved this and more for my failures. Willingham had me turn my back towards the window so he could see better. I looked at Holmes and saw the concern in his eyes and the sorrow.

“Neither of you are going to be running around London anytime soon.” Said Willingham as he gestured for me to get dressed again. “I am prescribing morphine if Watson or you need it for pain. I suggest the two of you get some rest and let your bodies recover. Can’t have another scare like this now can we? I really do not enjoy dealing with Mycroft when you get him like this.”

“I don’t think Watson does either,” said Holmes with a dry chuckle, “We will do as you have prescribed.”

“Wilson will be on call until you no longer need him. Where is he?”

“Up stairs asleep I hope,” I said.

“Well you can fill him in on what I said John. I’ll also send his assistant over for the time being since neither of you can really take care of yourselves at this point and it is even a little much for Mrs. Hudson.”

I opened my mouth to protest when I felt a wave a pain cut through my back so I shut it again. His body servant helped Holmes to the couch and me to my chair.

Willingham said his goodbyes leaving Holmes and me alone in the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the boys are on the mend. It has taken a while to get there. However there is still a case to solve...
> 
> I really can't say thank you enough for your comments and Kudos. It really helps me to sort out what is working and what is not clear enough for the reader. Part of the problem is that I have the whole thing worked out in my head and sometimes I write something that seems clear to me but confuses the reader because I had forgotten to place a piece of information that I know but the reader doesn't.


	11. A Manner of Apologies

I shifted trying to find an optimal position to sit in that didn’t hurt too much. With the aid of a cushion I managed to prop my body so I could sit in some fashion.

Holmes watched me from his position on the couch.

“I owe you an apology Watson.”

I started to protest but he raised a hand and gave me that look I knew meant silence on my part.

“I have used you badly and allowed harm to come to your person. Through my actions you were injured and punished for something that was not your fault. As your owner I am responsible for you and your wellbeing. It is my job to discipline you not anyone else.”

“Sir…”

“Did I say you could speak?”

“No Sir.”

“I have been remiss in my duties towards you. I promise to do better in the future.”

Mrs. Hudson walked in with a young lady behind her, “This is Mary Morstan. She was sent by Lord Willingham to help Wilson. She is in trained as a doctor in his household. Miss Morstan, this is my Master Sherlock Holmes and his servant Doctor John Watson.”

Miss Morstan gave a slight curtsy to Holmes, “How can I be of service?”

“First you can give Watson the morphine that has been prescribed for his injuries.”

I started to protest but was stopped by Holmes.

“No. You get no say in this. By allowing yourself to be in pain longer than you need be, you are denying me the use of yourself. By not letting your body to heal, you are being selfish. You have wallowed in self loathing long enough and I, apparently, haven’t been looking after you well enough.”

Miss Morstan was good at her job. I didn’t even feel the needle go into my arm. Shortly after that I could move without feeling like my body was on fire. I carefully crossed to the couch and checked on Holmes who was dosing. 

The wounds were showing signed of finally closing. His color was better than it had been in days. 

I settled myself down back in my chair with a medical journal I had started reading before I became sick and found myself drifting to sleep. 

I awoke later to find that a cold repast had been laid out. It was apparent that others had partaken of the food. I slowly made my way to the table and ate my lunch. Holmes was not on the couch so I assumed he was in his bed. Wilson came out of his bedroom confirming my suspicions. 

“How is he doing?”

“Better. I convinced him to take a nap. Mary is sitting with him. Now let’s have a look at you.”

I sighed and slowly stripped with his help. He examined my injuries carefully. I winced a couple of time where it was most painful. He helped me dress again and helped me to the couch. He gave me another shot of morphine once I was settled.

“Well nothing is broken but I do think he did crack a rib so that’s going to be tender for a bit. Any blood in your urine?”

“No.”

“It is going to take a while but I believe you will make a full recovery.”

“What about Holmes?”

“We are still concerned about his hands. There may be nerve damage but right now we can’t tell much. In a week or so, we’ll have a better idea. Overall he is getting better physically…”

“But there are concerns about his mental health,” I said quietly.

He nodded, “So far he hasn’t said a word about what happened to him even when we asked. He deflects the questions.”

I knew that Holmes had a way of putting on a public façade but his private fears he kept close to the vest. His brain was everything to him. It is what made him unique. But sometimes what went on in that head was very dark and dangerous. And then there were the drugs, which were still in his system to manage the pain and help his healing.

“Right now I think we need to see to healing the body and hope that the mind follows,” I said.

Wilson nodded,” I agree Doctor.”

I could feel myself nodding again, “Sorry must be the morphine.”

“Your body needs to heal and right now sleep is probably the best thing for you,” Wilson covered me up with the throw that Holmes tended to use when he got a chill. It was nice being wrapped in something that smelled like him. 

I awoke to a knock on the door. I got up quickly and fell to my knees as I remembered what had happened to me. 

Wilson came into the room from Sherlock’s and saw me there. He picked me up and led me to my chair and then opened the door letting Mrs. Hudson in.

“Doctor, Inspector Gregson is here,” she said as she brought in a tray with our suppers on it. She placed it on the sideboard and turn to me for direction. 

I looked at Wilson.

He sighed and said, “Holmes just woke up. I could ask him if he wants to see the Inspector at this time. Either way he needs to eat.” He went back into the bedroom and returned with Sherlock in his arms. He got Holmes situated in his chair. 

Holmes said, “Let him up. But only him.”

Mrs. Hudson gave a slight bow and went down to fetch Gregson.

“Ah Gregson, so good to see you,” said Holmes with more verve in his voice than I had heard in a while.

“Mr. Holmes, I am pleased to see you looking so well.”

“Have you supped?”

“No Sir.”

“Well then join us,” Holmes motioned to the empty seat he had Wilson put at the table. Mrs. Hudson entered with another plate of beef stew and placed it in front of Gregson.

We ate for a bit exchanging pleasantries and bit of news. I was pleased to see that Holmes seem to have better control of his hands but I also noticed that he was eating very little. It was more going through the motions than eating. 

Gregson finished up two plates of stew and thanked and praised Mrs. Hudson for her fine cooking, which he said almost compared to his wife’s. Mrs. Hudson thanked him for his high praise and said she would give him the recipe for his wife to try.

I slowly move my way back to my chair and sat. Wilson helped Holmes to the couch and then vanished until needed again. Gregson took the other chair that faced both the couch and my chair.

“So Gregson, I am assuming you didn’t stop by to sup with us tonight but rather something happened today.”

Gregson smiled, “Right as always Mr. Holmes. One of the auctioneers has vanished and we are concerned about his well being.”

“Which one?”

“Samuelson,” said Gregson, “He was one of the junior auctioneers and was slated to assist on the next sales day which is in a week.”

A look of concern came over Holmes’ face, “Samuelson you say? That is not good. He was the young man who first noticed the fakes that were coming through the house. In fact he was the one who alerted me to the situation.”

“He was your client?”

“Well yes and no,” said Holmes looking at the bandages on his wrists, “his employer hired me and Samuelson was my assistant at the house. Very smart young man. We need to find him before…”

We all thought it as his voice trailed off ‘before the next tableau was set.’

Gregson said, “Mr. Holmes, I am sorry but I do have to ask if you have any information that can help us find him? And can you make a statement about what happened to you?”

Holmes stared at his hands. 

“I’m not sure this is the time,” I said.

“No Watson, I have to tell the tale to him at some point and if we can save Samuelson, then it will be for the greater good. Could I have some water before I begin?”

I carefully got up and poured him a glass of water. I tried to keep from showing the pain that was coursing through my body with every move. I helped Holmes with the glass as his hands were shaking badly. He drank until he was done and nodded. I put the glass down on the end table next to couch.

“So Inspector, here’s what happened…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this. I hope you like this.
> 
> We will be finding out what happened to Holmes next.
> 
> All comments and Kudos are very welcome. If there is something here that didn't work feel free to tell me so I can get better as a writer. There are times that what I have in my head doesn't totally translate to the words on the page so I do like to know if I have missed something or made something too confusing.


	12. A Tale Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes recounts what happened to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic violence and descriptions of said violence. There is death and mayhem in this chapter.

Parts of this, Gregson, are going to sound familiar to you and other parts new. Watson had been, until that unfortunate incident in the church, oblivious about this case so I need to catch him up as well.

It started simply enough with a message asking if I could stop by the auction house of Bartleby’s at my earliest convenience. They had a problem that they felt I might be able to help them with.

Now I would normally pass on such a missive except things have been rather slow and the writer of the message was none other than Bartleby himself with a personal plea for help. He reminded me that I had been at university with his nephew who had told him of my ability to, as he put it, see the unseen. 

The auction house was busy getting ready for their next sale, which was to be in three days time. The works to be sold were on display in their showroom. There were some lovely pieces there and I quite enjoyed taking my time looking at them.

Mr. Bartleby’s assistant, being one Josiah Samuelson, brought me to him.

My first impression of Mr. Bartleby was a man who had worked his way up in the world. He moved not with the ease of aristocracy but with the fervor of a business owner. He smiled and greeted me warmly.

“Mr. Holmes, I thank you for finding the time to help us.”

“Mr. Bartleby, I suggest you save your thanks until I have done something to help. Now what is this matter that you think I can help you with? And why do you think that there are forgeries among the next set of paintings you are selling?”

He looked surprised and then looked at Samuelson who said, “I told him nothing Sir.”

“How did you…?”

“On the sales floor I examined both the paintings on display and the area around them. There are three that have been handled more than the others so I am assuming that those are the suspect paintings. You are unsure about another two but not as much as those three.”

“Amazing Mr. Holmes and you are correct. We do have concerns about two of the del Piombo pieces, the Andre Mantegna, the Rubens, and the Caravaggio. Let’s go down to the floor so I can show you why we suspect them of not being the originals.”

We walked back to the galley where the artwork was displayed.

“I notice that all of these pieces are of a kind,” I said looking closely at the frame of the Rubens.

“Well they are all by artists within the frame work of the Italian Renaissance.”

“No my good sir. Look at the subject material. They are all paintings of martyrs or Christ at the time of their torture and death. Now can you tell me what made you suspicious about these painting?”

“It was Samuelson who brought it to my attention. Samuelson?”

The young man stepped forward. He looked nervous so I smiled politely and nodded for him to tell me what he knew.

“It didn’t look right to me.”

“How so?”

He took a breath and stepped to a painting entitled ‘The Martyrdom of St. Agatha’.

“del Piombo was known for his painting on slate. He mastered the technique. When I examined the painting I noticed that the slate was of a kind that he could not have gotten in Italy. It is of English origin due to the coloration and striations. Therefor this is a copy of the original work. The reproductive skill of the artist is amazing but it is a fake.”

“Or rather he thinks it is a fake. A number of the senior staff dispute his findings,” said Bartleby, “But I trust this young man in his beliefs. All these painting came from the same collection in Italy.”

“Could I borrow your assistant Mr. Bartleby? I would like to learn more about why he thinks that there are fakes among this lot. I would also like to see the paperwork connected to all the paintings in this gallery.”

“Of course Mr. Holmes,” said Bartleby “As to the paperwork, I will have my clerk assemble that for you and have it ready tomorrow.”

We parted ways and I took Mr. Samuelson with me to Simpsons for dinner and a lesson in renaissance art. We talked late into the evening and parted promising to meet up the next day at the auction house so he could show me what he thought was wrong with the other paintings.

I got home after Watson had gone to bed and didn’t rise until after he left to work in his surgery. 

I spent the day with Samuelson learning all kinds of interesting things about the art world and its denizens. I learned about some of the rivalries between the auction houses along with some attempts to sully the reputation of Bartleby’s. I went through the paperwork that they had on the paintings and I noticed something

“Mr. Bartleby, these papers are incomplete. Where are the rest of the bills of lading?”

Bartleby looked rather surprised and annoyed by my announcement. He bellowed for his clerk and questioned him about the missing papers. The clerk was as baffled at Bartleby. He promised us he would look into the matter. 

“Mr. Bartleby, I need you to come clean to be about another matter in front of me,” I said carefully. 

“What would that be?”

“Samuelson, he’s your son isn’t he?”

Bartleby looked like he was about to deny it but his shoulders slumped and he nodded, “ Yes he is. He is my bastard but I beg of you Mr. Holmes, don’t tell him. He believes that his father is his father. He came to me with recommendations from the other auction house he worked for. I knew who he was when I learned the name of his mother. The missus and I have been unable to have children so he is my only progeny. If I may ask, how did you know? He takes after his mother.”

“You both have a rather distinctive nasal fold that is a hereditary trait and not quite a common one. But do not worry. I will not reveal your secret. I am known for my discretion. Now can you tell me who might profit from a scandal involving your auction house?”

Bartleby outlined how the other houses might profit from this sort of thing and I spent the next week going from auction house to auction house learning what I could.

It was then that the first bloody tableau was discovered and the case took on a whole new meaning.

I had seen Gregson the week before and inquired about some shady characters in the art world so it should have been no surprise when he summoned me to the crime scene for my help.

To say that the scene was horrific would be understate the depravity shown by the killer. That there was true artistry made it even harder to look at. They had recreated Martyrdom of St. Sebastian by Andrea Mantegna. The victim was a Mr. Saul Benuva. He was a clerk at Sotheby’s and in charge of the handling of most of the paperwork for the import and export of art work for the company. I was sorry to discover that he was conscious when the arrows had been driven into his body. There had been some sort of paralytic used, which made figuring out when the murder occurred very difficult.

To compound the problem was that the men who found the body had been telling everyone what they had seen and the public, with their love of the morbid, want to see. They, of course, trampled the ground and I lost any hope between them and the policemen’s boots of being able to see how many had participated in the creation of this tableau. I told Gregson that it seemed to me that it was the victim and four possibly five men who were in the room when it happened but beyond that I didn’t have much.

We agreed to talk the next day. I went back to Baker Street and summoned Wiggins to see if my network had seen anything unusual. I also sent them to keep an eye on several of the auction houses and report back if anything looked unusual. I could do nothing more so I sat back and waited news from somewhere.

News came in the form of Samuelson who came by Baker Street with the missing paperwork and a strange tale of a break-in at the auction house where a number of pieces were moved around but nothing seemed to be missing. The villains had left a broken arrow under one of the paintings. I went through the papers and quickly discovered that about half had been tampered with in one form or another. I set up a meeting with Bartleby and strongly suggested that he question his clerk about the paperwork.

I went to the gallery to see the arrow, which was made of the same stuff as the ones that were found in Mr. Benuva’s body. It had been placed very carefully under a painting entitled the Martyrdom of St. Agatha that became the second of the art tableau murders.

That scene was more horrific than the first. A young woman had been tortured to death and posed like the painting. Along with her were three other bodies of young men dressed up and placed to look like the torturers in the painting. They had used rope and wire to get the bodies into the positions. Many a stalwart policeman had to excuse himself to empty the contents of his stomach. Here we had a little more control of the scene and I was able to give Gregson a number of facts about the men we were looking for. It took longer to discover the names of the four poor individuals that made up that terrible recreation.

While Gregson worked on that, I continued to try to figure out how the fakes had gotten to Bartleby’s. I eventually was able to figure out that it was at the docks that the switch had been made. I had a few names from my sources that might have had a hand in it. One name keep cropping up when someone needed to get rid of hot art being Mr. Copper. I didn’t know if that was a code name or the man’s real name. I did know he was an elusive person.

It was then, Watson, that I came home to find you in such a poor state of health. I spent the week caring for you in your hour of need. Messages came to Baker street and my irregulars kept an eye on various individuals and reported back to me. 

After that terrible night when your fever finally broke, I received a message that there was someone who could identify the mysterious Mr. Copper. I disguised myself so I could travel about Whitechapel without drawing attention to myself. I also took a set of clothes, which I put in my rooms at the Jolly Jack. 

My boys took me down to the docks where Mr. Copper had been sighted. I did not see the man himself but I did gather enough information that I sent a message to Gregson to meet me in two days time as I wanted to get the rest of my facts in order. 

I went to the Jolly Jack and dressed in my own clothes. I put my list and notes in an envelope and put Watson’s name on it in case I had to send him to get it. I left it with Angelo and made my way to Bartleby’s to inform Bartleby of my findings. I arranged for the meeting with Gregson at the auction house so I could finish the case.

I left the auction house out the back door and found myself in the alley with a number of people who seemed to be loitering. I was suspicious so I wrote the note that you found in the wall. I walked out of the alley and found myself being followed. 

I tried to elude them but they caught up with me in the alley where you found my clothes. I was holding my own until I was caught by the blow to the side of my head. My ears rang and my vision blurred. They saw their opening and jumped me. I was quickly stripped and beaten until I slipped into unconsciousness. 

I awoke and found myself chained to a pillar. They had blindfolded me. I was still naked except they had wrapped a breechclout around me.

I heard several people enter the room. I stood up carefully and faced what I thought was the door.

“Ah Mr. Holmes. So glad you could join us.” The voice was tinged with an accent that I couldn’t quite place.

“I can’t say that the pleasure is all mine,” I replied holding my shackled wrists out.

“Now that’s for your safety and ours. We wouldn’t want a repeat of what you did yesterday in that alley. You broke Bob’s knee and fractured Will’s arm along with numerous other injuries to us. You are quite the fighter Mr. Holmes.”

I grinned baring my teeth a little as a challenge, “Unshackle me and you will see how good.”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t fit into my plan. I must say that you have rapidly become a thorn in my side. I have had to forgo several pieces of art I wanted to acquire because of you. Now I find myself under some serious pressure to deliver that which you have managed to keep from me.”

“The Baltic!” I said.

“Sorry?”

“Your accent. I finally placed it to the Baltic region. Latvia I think but with a Russian tinge.”

“You amaze me Mr. Holmes. Yes, I am originally from Latvia and my father is Russian.”

“May I ask why you have detained me?”

“You may ask but I do not care to answer.”

I heard a chain being pulled and I found myself up against the pillar. I felt a hand grab my jaw and turn my head from left to right.

“I didn’t think I would find anyone for the role I have planned for you Mr. Holmes but you are what they call a classic beauty and will fit my needs well.”

“Ah Mr. Copper I presume.”

There was a light laugh, “You can call me that. My compatriots came up with that name so I indulge them.”

I found my arm being held straight. I felt the prick of a needle and the feeling of a cool liquid in my veins. 

“What was that?” I asked.

“Oh just my own concoction Mr. Holmes. I need you pliable for me to create my masterpiece.”

I felt the world slip away and I fell into the drug’s dark embrace.

I came to not knowing how much time had past. I did find that my situation had changed and not for the better. I was now facing the pillar and I was naked. My arms were chained on the other side. The blindfold was gone. I found a crown of thorns on my head and I could feel blood dripping from the wounds on my head. I was gagged. I pulled back trying to see how much movement I had when I heard that voice again.

“Ah Mr. Holmes, glad to see you are with us again. I wouldn’t struggle if I were you. You are pretty much at my mercy.”

I heard the sound of the scourge right before it hit my backside. The pain blossomed from the impact. I found myself trying not to scream into the gag but failing.

The beating that followed was meticulous and painful. They stopped when I passed out and started again when I came to. My throat became raw with all the sounds I made through the gag. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore it stopped. I felt another injection into my neck and I surrendered to the blackness.

I came to on a crude cot. The room was dark. The only light shown from beneath the door that led into the room. They had lashed me to the cot face down with the shackles still attached to my wrists and ankles. I tested my bonds and found that escape was not in the cards at this point. I assessed the damage to my body and it was not pretty. I could feel the sting and burn of the scourge’s damage. My body still felt the effects of the beating I had what I thought was the previous day but my sense of time was disrupted. 

The door opened and I was blinded by the light streaming in. 

“He’s awake Mr. Copper,” said the large man holding a lantern.

He laughed, “You really had us do a number on ‘im. Bet that hurts Mr. Great Detective.”

I opened my mouth to speak but my throat was too dry from its earlier activities.

“At a loss for words?” asked the man, “I almost pity what he’s got planned for you next.”

“That’s enough Richard. We must let Mr. Holmes get some rest before his big day.”

The man called Mr. Copper knelt down next to my cot. I could see his cold eyes. One was sky blue and the other was the color of copper. There was no warmth to them at all.

He stroked my hair, “Ah Mr. Holmes if you only knew how perfect you are. You are a gift from G-d himself.” He grinned which only made me shiver in fear. I had seen that look before on men who seemly had no souls. He stood up and held out his hand. I saw the bloody scourge placed in it. He proceeded to beat me until I pass out yet again.

I regained my senses only to find myself being carried in a sack.

“Hurry along boys. We won’t have much time once we get there.”

“Alright Mr. Copper. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

There was a sound of a hard slap, “Never talk to me like that again.”

“Yessir” came the grudging reply.

Another voice said, “I dunno why we need to bring all three. We just need the one for him.”

“John, what have I said?” There was a squeak of pain from I presumed John.

“Do as you are told and not to question you.”

“I thought you had learned your lesson on that one. Do you need more instruction?”

“Sir, no sir. Please don’t sir.”

“Then get him into the van and let’s get going.”

The ride was short but very bumpy. I groaned as my back felt the impact of every brick and pothole. 

I was dragged out of the van and hauled into another building. I sorted out from the sound that we were in a church of some sort. I gathered my strength to try to make a break for it for I had a feeling that this was my only chance. I felt the sack open and I thrust out with my hands which were chained in front of me. I caught someone on the chin. There was a loud curse. My head was gripped and I felt a cloth over my nose and mouth. I tried not to breath but I could feel the fumes on my face and in my throat. As I struggled to maintain my ability to fight I could feel my body shut down. 

I came to and found myself stretched out on a thick beam of wood. I was tied down to the cross I found myself on. My head was immobilized by a metal ring and a crown of thorns woven into it. I felt a prick at my neck and the injection of some hellish substance into my body.

“Now Mr. Holmes, you should find this experience interesting,” said Mr. Copper. The other two men in the room laughed. 

“This is a compound of my own making. You will notice that you can not move however you can feel, “ he ran his finger across my torso, “ everything.” 

I shivered at his touch. 

“I think we will start with his feet.” 

I could feel that my feet were touching a small wooden platform. He palpitated them until he found a spot that he liked. I could feel the prick of something resting on my foot and then I felt an explosion of pain as they nailed my foot to the platform. I tried to scream but could only whimper. I tried to move. G-d how I tried to move but my body was not in my control. Tears ran freely from my eyes. He then proceeded to nail my other foot to the platform. 

He came into my line of vision when he was at my right hand. 

“The wrist is better than the hand. Can’t have you tearing it free can we?”

I tried to speak. I tried to plead but it was for naught. He had one man hold my hand and arm down and the other hold the spike that he nailed into my wrist to the cross.

I knew what was next as they moved to the other side. Once done with that. They stepped back to admire their handy work.

“All right gentlemen, let’s get this cross up to its rightful place. Richard you are on the rope. John you help me get this in place.”

The nailing to the cross was bad enough. The raising of the cross was more agony than my body could take. My brain did me a favor and I passed out.

I came to shortly there after to see Mr. Copper place a rag over John’s mouth much to John’s surprise. He went down quickly. Mr. Copper moved the body into a pew and out of sight. I groaned.

“My, my you do have a stunning constitution Mr Holmes. Well then you shall have the fun of seeing me finish this masterpiece.”

I heard someone enter the chapel where we were.

“The caretaker is still out Mr. Copper. But I think we need to get out of here sooner than later.”

“Oh Richard we will be leaving soon. But could you do me a favor?”

“Yes sir?”

Mr. Copper had a short roman spear in his hand that he held out to Richard, “Stab him,” he said pointing to me.

“Really?”

“Yes really. You deserve a treat,” said Mr. Copper with a winning smile.

Richard took the spear and went to stab me. I felt it go into my side as I watched Mr. Copper come up behind Richard and place the drug soaked rag over his nose and mouth. Richard almost got away but Mr. Copper was able to render him insensate. 

“Still with us Mr. Holmes? I don’t think you are going to be for much longer. Pity I would have liked you to see my masterpiece. You make a good Christ figure indeed.”

I could hear him drag the bodies of the two men and nail them to what I presume were two other crosses. He used rope to pull them up and then I heard the crunch of bone and then the gurgle of their throats being slit. The last thing I remember was seeing the blood pool at my feet as the pain took me into darkness and I assumed my death. I could hear Mr. Copper singing in Russian as he finished his bloody business.

And the next voice I heard was yours Watson and grateful was I to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a hard one to write and I hope I did justice to the story I am trying to tell.I had Jeremy Brett's voice in my head while I was writing this.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated and treasured like the gems that they are.


	13. Steps taken and steps missed

Holmes finished his story and looked at his hands, which were visible shaking. 

Gregson stood up and said, “Well that’s useful information Mr. Holmes. I will see what we can do on our end and keep you up to date on where we are since now we have a description of our murder. If you wouldn’t mind keeping me informed on anything you uncover…”

Holmes interrupted, “Gregson, we don’t have much time until I fear Samuelson will suffer the same fate as the others. I have a feeling of dread that we will find him in a tableau from the Martyrdom of St. Valentine which is a more horrid way to go than crucifixion.”

Gregson nodded gravely, “We will do our best Mr. Holmes.”

He paused after he opened the door, “I am sincerely glad that you are on the mend. I don’t want to think what the London criminal underbelly would have done if you had been killed.”

He gave a slight bow and left us.

The minute the door closed I fell to my knees next to Holmes, “I have fail you sir. I have failed my house. I have caused you grief and pain. I…”

“Whatever are you nattering on about Watson?” He looked me in the eye as if to sort out where I was going with this.

“If I had known how they had restrained you, I would have never…”

He held up his hand and the words stopped tumbling out of my mouth. 

“There was no way for you to have know that Watson. And considering what Wilson told me it was for my own good.”

“I should have known. I should have KNOWN. The marks on your wrists should have tipped me off but I didn’t see them.”

“Watson, I think you had some other things on your mind at the time, keeping me alive being one of them, and you have to admit that you have done an admirable job at that.” 

He reached a hand out and pulled me to him. I leaned put against the side of the couch and he stroked my hair rather affectionately.

“You found me in the nick of time. Now we have to do the same for poor Samuelson before Mr. Copper creates his next masterpiece with him as the central figure. I need you to go find Wiggins for me. He should be lurking about this time of day.”

I finished dressing with Mary’s help, grab my cane, and went out to find the lad.

It took a bit of doing and he found me but the results were the same.

“How’s he doin’?” asked Wiggins.

“He is on the mend and sent me to find you.”

I watched as the boy’s face lit up at the news of the summons.

I brought him up to the parlor and found Holmes sitting up in his favorite chair. There was food on the sideboard. I saw Wiggins eyes widen had the sight of such a spread. 

Holmes gestured to the sideboard, “Help yourself Master Wiggins.”

The boy took off his ragged cloth cap and gave a slight bow to Holmes, “Thank you Mr. Holmes.”

After we had all eaten, Holmes said, “I am going to have Mrs. Hudson wrap up the leftovers for you and the lads. Now onto business. I need you to find someone or at least one member of his gang and it is imperative that they be found sooner rather than later. Enlist the rest of the network and tell them I will pay well for information that leads me to him.”

Holmes described Mr. Copper and what he could of his associates that had attacked him. He told Wiggins that they should listen for an odd Russian accent and then demonstrated what he meant. Wiggins was a really good mimic and was able to recreate Holmes’. 

“Now Wiggins, I want everyone to be careful here. This man is dangerous on a level that London has not seen in a while.”

“Is he the one that did that,” Wiggins gestured to Holmes’ bandaged wrists.

“Yes,” said Holmes a little quietly, “he did.”

“Then we’ll find him for you Mr. Holmes. You deserve at least that,” there was a murderous tone in the boy’s voice that told me that Mr. Copper would be found but the condition might not be pristine. The loyalty that this young lad and the rest of the Irregulars had for Holmes was amazing and touching at the same time.

 

“One other thing Wiggins, I need you to take a message to Angelo at the Jolly Jack. Also if you can find either Smith or Jones, give them the information I gave you.” He handed the lad the note he had me write for him and a handful of coins in payment for his services.

I noticed that Holmes was starting to fade, “Back to bed Holmes.”

He nodded and hesitated for a moment, “Watson can you help me back to the bedroom.”

I went to carry him and he shook his head, “No, I want to walk there.”

I weighted the pluses and the minuses and knew that Holmes was going to do this with or without my help. Better I assist than he re-injures himself. 

“All right but with one condition. Let me get Wilson to help.”

He looked at me for a moment and nodded, “Go get Wilson.”

Wilson and Mrs. Hudson had just finished cleaning Holmes’ room when I came in.

“He wants to walk here,” I said, “And he is not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Wilson sighed, “Honestly John, I really don’t know how you handle him from day to day. Let’s get him back to bed.”

It was a difficult task due to the other injuries that Holmes had endured. We ended up holding at his elbows to give him support and take some of the weight off his feet. I could see the sweat form on his brow at the effort. We caught him before he fell. Wilson picked him up and took him the rest of the way.

Wilson and I changed him into his night clothes. He was angry not at us but himself.

Wilson started to say something to comfort but I caught his eye and shook my head no. I knew that he needed to get this out of his system. He was frustrated and in pain. He hated to be limited in any way and here he was being limited in every way. 

“Ten steps. I couldn’t do more than an infant can,” he muttered to himself and then he yelled “DAMN AND BLAST!”

“Holmes…” I said. He turned his fierce gaze on me.

“Not another word Watson. One more word and you will find why I can be crueler than Mycroft was.”

I bowed my head.

“A man’s life is in danger and I can’t do anything but sit here and pray that we can find him before…” His voice trailed off. None of us said what we all feared.

Wilson had ready the syringe with Holmes’ next dose of pain medication. Holmes waved him off.

“I need to be able to think clearly. I promise to rest for a while. Now both of you, leave me alone.”

Wilson opened his mouth to protest but I caught his eye again. Wilson gave a formal bow and we went into the other room leaving Holmes to his musings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next bit. I debated about posting just this but I am having some Internet issues so I want to get it out while I still had a chance to post.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are cuddled and loved by me.
> 
> So what am I missing? What doesn't quite sync for you the reader? What do you want more of?
> 
> I do want to know.


	14. Converstation Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson learns something and Holmes figures something out

I sat down and gestured to the chair across from me for Wilson to sit.

“He’s not going to try anything idiotic he is?”

I shrugged, “I have no idea but if he falls we will hear him.”

Wilson looked to the door of the bedroom, “One of us should be with him.”

“No.”

“But…”

“No. We were official told to go away for now so we do as he ordered us. Mary is sleeping down in Mrs. Hudson’s flat so she can take the night shift. Mrs. Hudson has plenty to do besides sit by his bedside as he glowers at her. He wants to be left alone so we will do so…for a short time. When your Master gets here, we go back in.”

Wilson shook his head. I could tell he was not happy.

“I swear between the two of you.”

“What? That beating Mycroft gave me? Had worse and enjoyed it more.”

“No…you really don’t remember? I knew you were half out of your mind but I thought I was having rational conversations with you.”

He could see the blank expression on my face. 

“John, when you had the bout of influenza…” he searched for the words, “you…you almost died. We had concerns about brain damage considering how high it was and how long it went on. Holmes saved your life by bringing your temperature down with alcohol sponge baths and putting you in tubs of ice cold water. My master was dubious about Holmes’ treatment of you but you are his property so…”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time he saved my life nor will it be the last I fear,” I replied.

“You are very loyal to him,” said Wilson.

“Yes and he has earned that trust. I do trust him with my life and my well being.”

I told Wilson the tale of the circumstances of our meeting. I told him of what Holmes meant to me. It was refreshing to be able to talk so frankly about it with someone who was a slave himself and had come up in the same system as I had.

“I can see how much he means to you,” said Wilson, “but do you know how much you mean to him?”

Apparently the look on my face told him everything.

“You are the one person that, outside his immediate family, he trusts without any reserve and, knowing Mr. Holmes for as long as I have, that’s a big deal.”

“How long have you known Holmes?”

“Since I was first placed in Lord Willingham’s household when I was ten. He was different then. He took risks that almost cost him his life more than once. Now that he has someone to care for and care for him, he is much calmer.”

“What sort of risks?”

“You are his physician. What do you think?”

“Drugs.”

“Well that and he use to get into a lot of fights. He is quite the bare knuckle brawler. Was the champion in his weight class for a while. My master made some serious money both betting on Mr. Holmes and fixing him up after the fights. It was his release for certain…tendencies but now he has you to deal with that part of himself.”

I had known that about Holmes but it was interesting to hear about it from someone who had actually seen it or the aftermath.

“WATSON!” came the cry from the bedroom.

I found myself moving before I realized I was and entered the bedroom.

Holmes was sitting up in bed, “I know where Mr. Copper is keeping Samuelson. You must get word to Gregson to come here now. Bring me the maps we have of the docks that are past Whitechapel.”

I did as I was ordered to. Mrs. Hudson gave the message to Wiggins who was lurking around and in a short time Gregson was in Holmes’ room looking at the maps that he had me pull for him.

“It took me a while to put the sounds back together from where they held me captive. I heard bells from various places and I think I know where I was. There is a warehouse that is used by many of the auction houses to store things until they clear customs. I believe that is where they held me. There is a sub-basement to the structure left over from the previous building.”

He pointed at the map, “I believe it was this one here. You need to go in carefully. Mr. Copper, as he is known, is not above killing to keep his freedom. I want you to take Watson with you. Samuelson is injured and he can help him. Watson, you need to be my eyes and ears. If they escape, I need information to sort out where he is planning to do the deed.”

“Why are you so sure Samuelson is injured?” asked Gregson.

Holmes stiffened, “Because of what happened to me,” he said quietly, “I have been where this poor innocent man is and it is not pleasant.”

We all nodded. I turned to leave when Holmes stopped me.

“Watson, you need to make sure that Copper does not walk out of that building alive. If he does, more people will be killed. I don’t care how you do it but you must for me.”

I looked at his face and saw the pure rage and anger that was behind his eyes. I bowed formally and said, “I shall do as ordered. I will be your hand of justice.”

I went to get my bag and gun and followed Gregson back to the station to get ready for the assault on the warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep this moving but Real Life is kicking my keister rather hard.
> 
> I could use input on this. I will say that the mystery is all sorted out in my head we just have to get there.
> 
> I do know that even at the conclusion of this story, there will be others.


	15. Hidden in plain sight

Gregson and I took a cab to the station where he gave his men the information that Holmes had imparted. They looked at the maps and sorted out the best way to get in and out of the warehouse and where to place other officers to keep the gang from escaping. 

We arrived at the warehouse at dusk and set ourselves according to plan. I was with Gregson, Stewart, and Layton. 

“How is Mr. Holmes?” asked Layton.

“Recovering,” I replied concentrating on the building in front of me.

Layton shuttered and said very quietly, “Thank G-d.” 

I looked at Layton who stiffened, “I am very glad to hear that Doctor.”

I looked at the young man and decided to be honest with him, “Layton, we still don’t know the extent of the damage to Holmes. It was touch and go for a time. But he is strong and determined. I expect that he will make a full recovery.”

“It’s just…” his voice trailed off as he thought carefully “considering how we found him….”

I put a hand on his shoulder, “Have you talked to anyone about it?”

He looked up at me in shock, “No sir! I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

“No, no that’s not what I mean Layton. You saw a rather horrific scene that day. That sort of thing tends to mark one. I know from what I saw when I was in the army. I get together with my mates and we drink and talk or don’t talk about what happened to us. It helps because we understand what happened to us.”

He nodded.

“I suggest that we, being you, Gregson, Stewart, and myself, go out after this is all over and have a drink. I’ll buy.”

It was like I handed him a lifeline. I saw his entire demeanor change and he was that self assured policeman that Gregson introduced me to.

“It will be an honor sir.”

“Now let’s go get these bounders.”

We entered the warehouse and, thanks to Holmes, found our way down to the sub basement but there was no one there. 

There was a lot of evidence that they had been there and recently including fresh blood on the floor and the column that still had the chains attached to it. There was a table loaded with various instruments of torture that had used and not cleaned. A firepot was still warm and there was a branding iron next to it. The smell of sweat and fear was heavy in the room.

Stewart said, “Now what?”

Gregson took off his hat and scratched his head, “Now I wish we had Mr. Holmes with us to give us some idea where to go next or who was here.”

He looked at me, “Well?”

I shook my head violently, “No. I am not bringing him to where he was tortured.”

Gregson took my elbow and drew me to the side, “I think that is for your Master to decide not you. I am going to 221B and ask him to look this place over. You may help or get out of the way.”

He saw the look of shock on my face.

“Ah you haven’t figured it out yet have you? Gregson is the name I use so as not to sully my family name. I know of the Marketplace. I know that you are a bonded slave to Holmes. I was raised by slaves in my parents house. So I know the rules Dr. Watson and I know that Holmes would want to see this. And if you interfere in anyway I will tell Mr. Holmes who I am sure would be willing to discipline his recalcitrant slave so are you going to help me?”

I had a hard time closing my mouth and just nodding. 

“Layton and Stewart, make sure no one comes into this room until I return. Coming Doctor?”

I followed Gregson to the carriage that took us to Baker Street.

I found Holmes situated on the couch with Lord Willingham checking him over. Wilson was handing Lord Willingham what he needed. I could see that his wounds had been rewrapped including his chest and head.

Holmes took one look at my face and said, “I need to see the scene. I can’t lay about here any more.”

Gregson smiled and Lord Willingham frowned at the same time.

“Dammit a man’s life hangs in the balance long with how many other innocents. Get me there. I don’t care how.”

Wilson carried Holmes into his bedroom and helped him dress. Because of the injuries to his feet, Wilson found slippers that would go over the bandages on Holmes’ feet. Holmes had Wilson remove the bandages around his head and put a hat on to cover the healing marks.

“Might I point out Holmes,” I said as a last ditch effort to stave off this excursion, “Copper doesn’t know that you are alive. It was reported that three bodies were found in the chapel but no names were attached to them.”

“My safety is less important than saving a life Watson and if I do not figure out where this horrible tableau will be staged then we are just counting the bodies.”

I sighed and Holmes gave me a look that told me that I would pay for this impudence in time and it was not going to be pleasant. 

Willingham spoke to Wilson who was ordered to come with us. Mrs. Hudson gave him a camp stool to take with us for Holmes.

I watched carefully as Holmes with Wilson’s help looked over the torture chamber of the sub-basement. I was touched at the number of police that came up to Holmes and said how glad they were to see him again. 

Holmes sat down on the camp stool and looked over the room.

“Well Mr. Holmes?” asked Gregson.

“It is going to happen tonight. He has already beaten the poor man to within an inch of his life. He has also had one of his thugs branded Samuelson several time once on the back of each leg and once on the back of each arm. There is evidence that Samuelson did manage to break free at some point and caused quite a bit of trouble but was re-captured and punished for it. It is the where that is eluding me.”

He thought for a bit and said, “I need to see the cot again.”

Wilson helped him over to it and he had Wilson put him on the floor next to it.

“Gregson, could you get some of your men to carefully move this for me.”

They did as they were ordered and started to move the cot where I knew for sure that Holmes had been lashed to as well as Samuelson.

He raised his hand and shouted, “STOP.”  
He looked under the cot at something he had seen when they had moved it.

“Gregson, Watson come here and tell me what you see.” He pointed.

Under the cot written in blood were the words My Gallery.

“We must get to the Bartleby Auction House immediately,” said Holmes “and I pray we are not too late.”

Gregson assembled his men. Wilson picked up Holmes. I grabbed the camp chair and we were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok we are heading towards the end of this one but I do promise that there will be a sequel or another section of this in the future. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are lovely things.
> 
> And if you are reading this because of a fanfic class, tell me what you think. I may write under a weird fan name but I am still a writer who likes input.
> 
> If you are here because of the NYT article about Johnlock art work and the like, hope you are enjoying this.
> 
> No I don't plan to shut down or hide what I am writing. As long as my parents don't read it, I think I am good.


	16. Art for Art Sake

Gregson quickly gathered his fellow police over to Holmes as they went over the plan and where to place Gregson’s men. 

Wilson stood next to me with a very pained look on his face.

He whispered to me, “He’s bleeding. Something has torn and I am concerned about his feet.”

I whispered back, “We won’t be able to convince him to go back and let the police do their job. He has the bit in his teeth and he won’t let this go until this business is done.”

“I do have an option,” he said and showed me the syringe he had in his jacket, “I could knock him out.”

“Not a good idea and honestly I would pay for it more than you would. So as his physician, I am ordering you to give me that.”

Wilson sighed and handed it over to me.

“Let’s go,” said Holmes. Wilson helped him into the carriage and sat next to him. I sat next to Gregson and listened as the two men plotted out the rest of their attack on Copper. Holmes was able to give Gregson a good idea of the layout of the auction house and where they needed to go.

We stopped a few blocks short of the auction house. Layton snuck ahead to the alley behind the building and came back holding up 2 fingers.

“There are two men with clubs at the back entrance. There is a van right up against the door. I couldn’t see much else without giving away that I was there.”

Gregson sent a couple of officers in to deal with the ruffians and make sure there was no one hiding in wait. They managed to deed with very little noise which made Holmes very happy.

Layton moved the van forward so we could get into the back to the auction house. We worked our way from the back door to the gallery carefully. Holmes pointed out the bloody trail on the floor that led us to the gallery on the second floor. We took out another couple of guards as we went without any uproar.

As we got closer I could hear low voices within the gallery along with muffled groans.

“Come, come, Mr. Samuelson. Consider the greater good. I am immortalizing you here. You have such a perfect body for this,” said a man who I assumed by the accent was Mr. Copper.

I saw Holmes shutter at the sound of the voice and then straighten up.

And to our utter astonishment he just walked into the gallery and said, “I don’t think so.”

Gregson whispered to me, “Is he TRYING to get himself killed?!?!”

We could hear movement in the room.

“Well Mr. Holmes apparently you followed in Christ’s footsteps and rose from the dead. I am going to have to correct that.”

I dove into the room.

Samuelson was tied to a wooden block and there was a headsman’s axe next to the block. I saw four other bodies with sacks over their head and bound sitting again the far wall. There were 6 men besides Mr. Copper in the room. 

I shot two quickly before they realized I was there. Gregson was right behind me and said, “All of you. Drop to your knees and hands up where I can see them.” 

Once the other police started to enter, the villains saw that the odds were not in their favor and they obeyed Gregson’s order. 

Mr. Copper dashed forward and grabbed Holmes in a chokehold. Holmes let out a cry of pain.

Mr. Copper took a knife and placed it at Holmes’ neck.

“One move and there will be no resurrection. So back off,” he growled.

We did as he ordered. I could see the little color in Holmes’ face drain away and he went limp. 

Copper went for a better hold on Holmes when I saw Holmes left hand move quickly and Copper gave a cry in pain. Holmes pitched forward as Copper pitched backwards with the syringe in his leg. I checked my pocket to find that the syringe that Wilson had given me was gone. 

I rushed to Holmes and checked the gash on his neck which looked nasty but nothing vital had been cut. 

“Samuelson, check over Samuelson,” he said.

“Wilson has him. I need to look to you.”

I checked Holmes over and was not happy at the amount of damage he had done to himself. Stitches were torn. Wounds that had been half healed were open again. It was a mess.

Layton and Gregson had pounced on Copper while the other officers cuffed the other men. Stewart released the bound individuals that Copper had brought with him. 

“How’s Samuelson?” asked Holmes who was now propped up against me for support. I could tell that he was rapidly running down. I turned him so he could see Wilson working on Samuelson who was apparently under the same influence of drugs that Holmes had been. 

“Wilson careful with him. He might not be able to move but he can feel everything you are doing to him ten fold,” said Holmes.

I shuttered at that thought.

“Holmes does that mean…”

He placed a trembling hand on mine, “this is a conversation for another time and place. Just know that I do not hold you at fault in anything you did.”

A cold feeling took hold in the pit of my stomach. He had felt me rip his flesh to free him from the cross. 

Wilson said, “There is not much more I can do for him here. He needs a hospital and possibly a surgeon.”

Gregson said, “I can lend you a police van to get him there.”

“Can you send someone to Lord Willingham’s club and have him meet me at Barts?”

Layton said, “Done.” And he motioned for one of the young policeman and gave him the message. They created a makeshift stretcher and got Samuelson out of the gallery. They also took along Copper’s victims to be checked over since they seemed drugged as well.

Stewart and Layton went to Wilson. 

Gregson took charge of the prisoners

I picked up Holmes and carried him to a waiting cab. Holmes started to protest but realized he was weaker than he thought. Somewhere between the gallery and Baker Street, Holmes passed out.

I carried him back up to his room and stripped his clothes off. Mary was right there with what I needed. I used morphine to make sure he was unconscious while I took care of the damage. It was a mess. He had managed to rip open his back. His feet were a mess. And he now had this gash on his neck. I cleaned and sutured where needed and re-bandaged. 

I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until the crises was past. As the adrenaline rush finished, I found my vision becoming cloudy as my back and legs screamed at me for abusing them. I tried not to fall on Holmes as I passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you get two chapters today. I had some time and internet that was cooperating so bonus chapter for you to read.
> 
> This is becoming a case of the characters running off and doing what they want but I am hoping it is still entertaining.
> 
> So enjoy.


	17. A Priced to be Paid

I awoke in my bed in the upstairs bedroom. I tried to move only to find myself restrained as I had restrained Holmes.

“Dr. Watson?” it was a female voice. My brain figured out that it was Mary. I turned my head towards the sound.

“Please stay still. I am going to get Dr. Wilson to see if you can get up. Do you need to use the chamber pot before I do?”

“No,” I rasped out. 

She left and quickly returned with Dr. Wilson.

“John, good to see you back with us,” said Wilson as he removed the restraints.

“Why?” I asked feeling my voice getting a little stronger.

“You will have to ask Mr. Holmes. He insisted on it.”

“How long?” I asked slowly rolling onto my side and then carefully sitting up. 

“About 12 hours from the time that you passed out next to Mr. Holmes.”

“Tell me that I didn’t fall on him.”

“No, you managed to steer clear but you also fell off the bed in your efforts.”

Well that explained the new aches and pains I was experiencing.

“Mr. Holmes has requested that you join him once you are ready and dressed. Mary will help you with your toiletry and dressing.”

“How is he doing?”

I saw a look on Wilson’s face that let me know that all was not well, “As well as can be expected considering his activities yesterday.”

“Wilson…”

“No, it is not my place to say.”

I shrugged and went about getting ready for the day. Mary helped me as I needed help. Overall I did feel better than I had in a while. I walked carefully down to the parlor and found Holmes seating in his favorite chair by the fire. He was smoking his long clay pipe. He looked at me and gestured to the table where breakfast was set out for me. I ate in silence. I had been with Holmes long enough to know his moods and this one would go better for me if I speak when spoken to. I finished my tea.

Holmes looked at me and said, “Fix me a cup and bring it here.” He pointed at the spot next to his chair. 

I did as I was ordered and knelt next to his chair offering him the cup with both hands. He reached his hands forward and I could see them trembling.

“Sir…” I started but stopped when he looked at me with a very cold expression. 

“Did I say you could speak?”

I shook my head and lower my gaze. I felt the cup being taken out of my hands. I peeked up concerned he was going to drop the whole thing. He carefully took a couple of sips and put the cup down on the side table on the other side of the chair.

“Where should your eyes be?”

I dropped my gaze to the floor.

“Watson I have been remiss in my obligations apparently. I am getting all sorts of reports from different quarters that you are forgetting yourself and your place in my household.”

I opened my mouth to protest but shut it just as fast. 

“That is the first sensible thing you have done in days. Now strip and present.”

I could tell by the tone I had no leeway in this. I stood up favoring my right leg and did as he ordered me to. I placed my clothing neatly on my armchair and knelt up in front of Holmes with my fingers interlocked behind my head awaiting further orders.

He left me there as he finished his cup of tea. I tried to control my face as I watched as he struggled to lift the cup to his lips and back to the saucer.

“Stand up and turn around. I want to see the condition of my property.”

I shivered as I moved. I thought by this point I knew Holmes’ moods but this was something new.

“Step towards me two steps.”

I felt his hand on my back carefully tracing the damage from Mycroft’s disciple. I tried not to wince when he lightly touch some sensitive spots. I tried not to reveal that I could feel his hand trembling. He removed his hand and I stood at attention waiting my next order. 

And I stood there and stood there not moving. 

Mrs. Hudson came in and cleaned up the dishes not giving me even a glance. 

About the time that I thought Holmes might have fallen asleep, Wilson came in and checked Holmes over. Holmes asked his medical opinion about the damage done to my body and my over all health like one would ask about their horse or their dog. Wilson gave him his feelings on the matter and suggested that Holmes talk to Lord Willingham when he came by. They discussed possible treatments for me as if I was not even there. 

Wilson left and I continued to stand which was getting harder and harder to do.

Just at the point that I thought I might fall I heard Holmes say, “Get dressed and sit down.”

I did as he ordered just then Mrs. Hudson knocked and came in, “Inspector Gregson and Constables Stewart and Layton are asking to see you Sir.”

“Please let them up and bring us tea Mrs. Hudson.”

She bowed and left.

“Watson unless spoken directly to, you will not say a word. In fact I order you to excuse yourself after tea has been served. You will go upstairs and Miss Morstan is to put your restraints back on. I will deal with you later.”

The door opened and Gregson entered with his two assistants.

“Ah Gregson, so how goes the case?” said Holmes rather convivially.

“Well Mr. Holmes, we have hit a bit of a snag,” said Gregson.

“Have a seat and gentlemen, you as well.”

Stewart took one of the chairs and sat on that leaving Gregson and Layton on the couch.

Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea service and served the room. 

Small talk was made about this and that. 

At the finish of tea, I excused myself and went back upstairs to find Mary and Wilson waiting for me.

“Do you need to use the toilet?”

I nodded and Wilson took me to the toilet as if I was a child.

They stripped my clothing from me not allowing me to help at all. They put on the wrist and ankle restrains. 

Wilson approached me with the leather gag I disliked. He could see my expression.

“Watson, we have our orders,” said Mary quietly. I could tell that neither of them was pleased about how I was being treated. 

I opened my mouth and Wilson inserted the gag. A blindfold quickly followed along with a leather contraption that cut out my hearing.

I was led to the bed and helped to lie down on my stomach. My limbs were tied off to the bed and I was left in darkness wondering what Holmes had planned for me.

I had a feeling that it was not going to be good for me.


	18. Reasons that Surpasseth Understanding

I honestly have no idea how long I remained there. I drifted a bit. I think I slept. On the rare occasion I felt anything it was someone checking my hands and feet for circulation or something being spread on my back. The longer I was there, the angrier I became or the sadder. I honestly didn’t know. My mind was racing as to what I had done that had led to this position. Then came a point where my mind calmed and for the first time in what felt like forever, I could actually think rather than react.

My hearing was restored first. I was surprised how loud the world sounded after being isolated from it. I could hear things going on outside on the street and the movement of people in the room. The gag was removed next followed by the restraints. I was helped to sit up and then stand. The blindfold stayed. I was walked to the toilet and allowed to do my business. I was put in a nightshirt and a robe and led to the parlor where I was knelt on the floor and left. I could feel the heat of the fireplace so I knew I was in front of Holmes’ chair. 

I listened carefully and knew that someone was in the room with me. 

The blindfold was lifted and I blinked a bit adjusting to the light after being in darkness. Holmes was seating in front of me. I looked down at his feet, which were still swathed in bandages.

“Thank you Wilson. That will be all this evening. I am sure Dr. Watson is more than capable of helping me,” said Holmes “Mrs. Hudson has a meal for you and please use Watson’s room tonight.”

There seemed to be a slight hesitation and then Wilson said, “Thank you sir.”

I heard the door close behind me leaving me staring at Holmes’ feet.

“Watson…” he started and then stopped.

I didn’t know what to do. 

“How do you feel?”

I thought carefully before answering, “Better Sir. I apologize…”

He cut me off, “No.”

I fell silent waiting for the next order.

“Help me to the table and let’s have supper.”

I assisted him to the table and served us both. We ate in silence but I could tell that Holmes was analyzing me.

After we were done, I helped him back to his chair.

“Watson would you be good enough to pour me a scotch and one for yourself and then sit down across from me.”

I did as he ordered me to. I carefully sat down, took a sip of the scotch, and rolled it on my tongue.

“Watson, do you understand why I did what I did to you?”

I thought about it for a bit, “You wanted me to go mad?”

He laughed lightly, “That is one way of looking at it. No, I needed you to focus Watson. I needed my Doctor John Watson back not the shell of the man I saw looking at me with such fear and sadness. I need you to stop blaming yourself for what happened to me through my own doing. You did not seek to deny me your services by falling ill. It happened. You did not cause me to find myself in that dreadful situation. You did not seek to hurt me when you found me in that chapel and had to remove me from that cross. You only tried your best for me and Watson that is all I ask of you.”

I thought about what he said and he was right. I had been blaming myself for all that had happened to Holmes but considering what his actions had been before, if I had been healthy the outcome would have been the same. I could second guess myself all I wanted and maybe some things I could have done sooner but it was not in my hands.

I relaxed for the first time since I found out that Holmes was missing. I took another sip of the scotch.

“Thank you Sir.”

“For what?”

“For reminded me who I am.”

“You are welcome.”

We sipped the scotch just enjoying being in each other’s company. 

“So what happened with Copper?”

“Ah, well that is not quite over. There are a couple of problems that Gregson still needs our help on. Apparently our Russian/Serbian friend is royalty and his embassy is asking for his return.”

“Damn. That’s a right mess.”

“Copper has requested a meeting with me. Apparently he has something to tell that he will only tell me. Gregson has asked me if I would.”

“Good Lord Holmes. Have you?”

“I have agreed to do so but only if you come with me.”

“Of course.”

“How is your back?”

“Nothing I can’t tolerate. It is healing and shouldn't be an issue.”

“That’s my Watson. However I order you to never allow that to happen again. Your rewards and punishments are mine to give. I told Gregson we would go see Copper tomorrow after breakfast.”

Mrs. Hudson entered and cleared out the dishes. I saw her out of the corner of my eye smile at us. I could tell she was happy that things were returning back to normal. She nodded at me before leaving with the tray.

I turned back to Holmes and could see he was tired.

“Shall I help you get ready for bed Sir?”

He nodded and yawned. I helped him stand up. I could tell that his walking was improving which filled me with happiness. We did what we needed to do and I got him into his bed.

“Watson,” he said and patted the space next to him. I curled up with Holmes. He stroked my hair gently. Then he kissed the top of my head.

“I have missed this Watson.”

“As have I.”

And we fell asleep in each other’s arms for the first time without any sleeping aid in quite a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this sort of explains some of Holmes' bizarre behavior. A chunk of this was written before I posted the chapter yesterday so I found it interesting that it seemed to dovetail with the responses I was getting.
> 
> Thank you so much for your input. It does help me a lot as a writer.


	19. Challenge and Responce

The next day found us in a cab heading to the Met for our interview with the mysterious Mr. Copper. 

“Holmes I wanted to thank you for what you did for me the other day,” I said, “I really hadn’t know how far I had gone.”

“Well Watson I had to come up with something. Mycroft’s ham-handed treatment of your person lost me my usual solution, which is to beat sense back into you. I didn’t have time to allow your back to heal.”

“Again my thanks Sir.”

“Ah Watson, it is good to have you back with me.”

I knew what he meant. It did feel more like normal life with Holmes.

We arrived at the Met. I helped Holmes out of the carriage. I handed him a cane which he took almost absent mindedly. 

Holmes looked at the carriages outside the building.

“Oh good lord, what is he doing here?”

“Who?”

We entered and Holmes pointed, “Mycroft.”

I found my back stiffening at the sight of the man.

“What are you doing here?” Holmes asked his brother.

“Mr. Copper, as you know him, is to be handed over to his embassy after he finishes his conversation with you. Be careful Sherlock, he is still a very dangerous man.”

“Of course. But any of your minions could see to this, why the interest?”

“He threatened my family Sherlock. He threatened your life and well being. He is still threating to expose your proclivities to the general public and we know how that will go. I can only keep so much secret. I need to make sure that he can’t touch you ever again.”

Holmes nodded.

“Anything else you care to say before we go in?”

“I apologize to you and Dr. Watson for my actions the other day. I was…not quite myself at the time.”

“Apology accepted Mycroft. Please don’t do that to my property again. I had to resort to some rather drastic measures to get my Doctor back.”

I gave Mycroft a formal bow but said nothing.

The room we were lead to had seen better days. Copper was manacled to a chair with a table in front of him. There were two seats on the other side. Holmes slowly made his way to one of the chair. He took a slight misstep and I went to help him but he waved me off with one of the hand signals we had created to be able to talk to each other. Holmes sat heavily on the chair. I went and stood behind his chair until he gestured that I should sit down.

“So Mr. Copper or Prince Serge I should say, what was so important that you had to talk to me before leaving our country?”

Prince Serge said something in what sounded to be Russian. Much to his surprise Holmes replied to what he said quite fluently. They spoke to each other rapidly with a lot of hand gestures. I hadn’t a clue what they were saying but I could see that both men were becoming more agitated as the conversation went on.

Prince Serge laughed and switched to English, “I like you Mr. Holmes. You amuse me as does your pet.” He looked at me with very cold eyes.

“Ah what I could have done with you Doctor Watson. It would have been more of a masterpiece than what I did to Mr. Holmes.”

He leaned in and said, “And you would have probably enjoyed every minute of it.” 

He leaned back and said very conversationally, “So I really want to know when you bugger each other, who’s on top? You should have heard him Doctor Watson pleading and begging for you to save him. He said the most interesting things when he was not all here.”

Holmes slapped the table hard and said something in Russian. I could see that move had cost him dearly from the tightness of his jaw trying not to let the pain show on his face.

The prisoner smiled and replied in Russian.

“I think we are done here Watson. There is nothing more this man can tell me that I already didn’t know.”

Holmes almost fell when he got up but I got to his elbow and steadied him before he fell. 

Prince Serge laughed, “You must admit that you will never forget me will you Mr. Sherlock Holmes.?

I spun and was about to jump across the table to do some harm to the man who had harmed my Master when Holmes stopped me, “No Watson. It is not worth it.”

I backed down and handed Holmes his cane.

He turned to the man shackled to the chair and said, “I do thank you for your help in my inquiries. You have given me the last pieces I needed to finish the puzzle I was given.”

Prince Serge looked surprised at this statement.

“I do wish you a bon voyage Prince Serge and pray that our paths do not cross again because we both know that accidents can happen.”

“I wish the same to you Mr. Holmes. Next time I will make sure to put down your dog before tangling with you.”

Holmes felt me go ridged and put a hand on mine, “No.”

I nodded and we left the room to what I would assume was a string of Russian curses.

“Watson I need to arrange a meeting with Mr. Bartleby at his auction house. I need the staff to attend as well and Samuelson if he can make it.”

“I don’t know about Samuelson. Wilson said that his wounds, while not as bad as yours, were horrific and they had some serious concern about infection from the branding.”

Holmes gave me that look that said ‘that’s not what I said Watson you idiot’

“But I will see what can be done.”

“Good. Now let’s go home. I think you might have to re-bandage my left wrist.”

It was only then that I noticed that there was blood dripping very slowly from his fingers.

“Good Lord Holmes!”

“Now, now Watson, let’s not make a scene. I am fine. Just need a bit of doctoring and I’ll be right as rain.”

We got a cab back to Baker Street. I wrapped his wrist in my scarf to keep him from bleeding all over the place. When we got home, he allowed me to take a look at it. 

“Holmes, you have torn it again. You need to be more careful and give your body some time to heal before putting further injury on it. I am not happy with you right now.”

He smiled a warm smile at me and said, “Yes Doctor. Whatever you say Doctor. I’ll be good.”

I chuckled and said, “We both know how much statement that water will hold.”

I fixed him up and then went to see Bartleby as Holmes had ordered me to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are heading for the end of this tale however since this got such good response I will be writing more in this 'verse.
> 
> Now would you like to see more case fic? Or Holmes/Watson dynamics or ? I am honestly open to suggestions.
> 
> Remember that the "where they first met" is going to be in the No Safewords II anthology edited by Laura Antoniou to be published later this year. And I recommend her murder mystery "The Killer wore Leather" which is winning all kinds of awards.


	20. No Place to Hide

I arrived at Bartleby’s auction house to find it in a flurry of activity as they were getting ready for their next auction. Part of the sale was taking place that evening with the bulk of it to take place the next day. 

I was ushered into Mr. Bartleby’s office by a very harried looking assistant who informed me that he was Samuelson’s temporary replacement.

He was quickly dismissed with a “thank you Saxby that will be all” which the man visible looked relieved about.

“Doctor Watson, glad to finally meet you. Mr. Holmes had said you were under the weather when I last saw him.”

“Yes, I was. I am much better now, thank you.” 

“Why didn’t Mr. Holmes come himself?”

I was aghast. He hadn’t heard what had happened to Holmes. No one told him. And Holmes hadn’t told me either way what to say to Mr. Bartleby.

“Have you heard nothing?”

He shook his head, “I have been dealing with authenticating the pieces for the auction this weekend. . .again. Between that, the break in yesterday, and what happened to poor Samuelson, I have been rather occupied.”

I decided to test the waters, “What do you know about Samuelson?”

He shrugged, “That he vanished for a time and was assaulted here in the auction house. He is currently recovering at hospital from what I understand are some rather severe injuries.”

I couldn’t believe that the man didn’t know what was going on right in front of him. But Holmes hadn’t instructed me to give the man information. He had instructed me to have Bartleby gather his staff.

“Mr. Holmes needs to see your entire staff before the auction commences.”

“You must be joking,” said Bartleby.

“No sir, I never joke about what Mr. Holmes says. He has the solution to your problem but he needs to meet with your staff so he can bring this ugly affair to a conclusion.”

Bartleby sighed a very heavy sigh, “Very well. I always gather the staff right before the auction and talk to them. I will make sure that everyone comes to that meeting. Have Mr. Holmes meet us in the main hall at 6 pm. But this is very damn inconvenient I will have you know.”

“I know Mr. Bartleby but believe me that Mr. Holmes would not make such a request if it were not necessary.”

We shook hands and I left to see what condition Samuelson was in.

I found him in a hospital bed with a woman sitting at his bedside. From her age and bearing I knew this was his mother. He was looking better than the last time I had seen him. I didn’t know if he would remember me or not.

“Dr. Watson,” he said in a very rough voice. I remember Holmes’ sounding the same after his ordeal. “Mother, this is Dr. Watson. He works with Mr. Holmes. He helped save my life.”

The woman turned towards me. She was a classic beauty that was aging well but there were signs of sadness and melancholy through out her person.

“I must thank you Doctor Watson for helping to save my son. It is a great service you have done for my family.”

Her accent struck me. She sounded a lot like Prince Serge.

She must have seen the look on my face, “Is there something wrong?”

“Oh no Madame, I was just trying to place your accent. Serbian?”

She smiled and nodded, “And here I thought after so long in England it would not be heard anymore.”

Dr. Foreman entered the ward and came right over, “Doctor Watson, what brings you here?”

“Mr. Holmes needs Mr. Samuelson at the auction house this evening at 6 o’clock so he can finish sorting out this bloody business we have found ourselves in.”

Foreman looked at Samuelson and said, “Doctor Watson, a word if you please.”

We stepped out of the ward.

“Are you insane? That man has barely had anytime to heal and you want him to return to the place where he was almost beheaded?”

I stood up formally trying to give myself a little more height, which was hard since Foreman was six foot at the least, and said very formally, “My master has ordered me to get Mr. Samuelson to the gallery this evening. I am only doing what I have been ordered to do. If need be I will go to your master and get permission which you know he will give me unless Samuelson can’t be moved.”

Foreman’s shoulders slumped, “Then be it on your head. We will have him there.”

“Mr. Holmes asks that Mr. Samuelson be kept in the foyer until Mr. Holmes summons him.”

Foreman nodded and we went back in to find Samuelson and his mother speaking in Russian very quietly. She didn’t look happy and her gaze upon my person made me feel rather uncomfortable.

Samuelson struggled to sit up and Foreman helped him get to a seated position.

“I will be there Doctor Watson. I owe both of you my life and Mr. Holmes my eternal gratitude. If my being there will clear this nightmare up, I am going.”

His mother started to say something but Samuelson cut her off, “No mama, I have to do this. Mr. Holmes sacrificed much to help me. It is a debt of honor I must repay.”

That seemed to be the magic phrase. His mother nodded rather gravely and said, “As it must be.”

Samuelson smiled, “Then it is settled. I will see you at 6 Doctor Watson.”

I bowed and left.

I found Holmes dozing on the couch when I returned.

“Well?”

“It is all arranged for 6 o’clock this evening at the auction house. Samuelson will be joining us.” I said as I removed my coat and hat and passed them to Mrs. Hudson.

“Good. Mrs. Hudson would you be so kind as to send a message to Gregson to meet us there at the same time? And also inform him it might be a good idea to bring some other officers with him in case we need them.”

I sat down in my chair and looked at Holmes.

“Have you learned anything else of interest in your travels?”

“Samuelson’s mother is Serbian by birth.”

He smiled and said, “I know.”

“How Holmes? How?”

“Because Samuelson told me when we were at dinner. Nothing more spectacular than that. Ah Watson I do love catching you off guard sometimes. Now let’s eat and then help me get dressed for this evenings…festivities.”

We did so and arrived at the auction house about 5:30 that evening. Holmes was wearing real shoes for the first time. I had concerns about it but Holmes said he was not going to finish a case in public in his slippers. Bad enough everyone thought he always wore a deerstalker due to that damn illustration, he was not going to add slippers to the mess.

We were shown to Bartleby’s office by the same harried assistant as I had met earlier. Bartleby was not in his office but he joined us shortly.

“Mr. Holmes,” he said extending his hand to shake Holmes’, “A pleasure to see you again. Doctor Watson tells me you have figure out what has been going on?”

Holmes did not take the extended hand, “Forgive me Mr. Bartleby, I have injured my hand so shaking is a rather painful experience for me right now and yes I do have a solution to your problem. But you must let me my indulgence of revealing all at the time and place of my choosing. Now shall we go to the main gallery? I want to see the artwork one more time before it is sold to its new owners.”

We walked down the stairs to the gallery. I placed myself in front of Holmes so I could stop him falling if need be. I could see that he had a sheen of sweat on his face from the effort of walking.

We perambulated about the gallery examining each piece of art with Bartleby’s running commentary on each piece. By six we were at the far end of the gallery and the staff was assembling. Holmes walked carefully back to the middle and sat down on a chair waiting for Bartleby’s assistant to tell him everyone was there.

He gestured to me and said,” Go to the main door and when I give you the signal, have Samuelson brought in.”

I nodded and went to the main door to find Samuelson in a wheelchair with Foreman and Gregson.

I turned to find Bartleby giving his speech to his employees before handing the floor over to Holmes.

Holmes stood up and looked at the group of people in front of him. I had seen him do this before where he would ‘read’ the crowd before speaking.

And he started to speak, “My name, for those of you who don’t know who I am, is Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Bartleby asked me to come look at some strange goings on here at his auction house. As you might know, a couple of the paintings that are to be auctioned were in a bit of a dispute as to their authenticity.”

A murmur when through the group but when Holmes held up his hand and the sound ceased. 

“He was right to call upon me to look into this matter since this solved both matters for the auction house and for the police. I am sure that you have heard of the Art Murders. What you may not know is that each one is based on a painting you can see here in the gallery. And each of those paintings are the ones that are suspect as to their authenticity.”

An audible gasp was heard and I could see people glancing at the art around them trying to figure out which paintings had been used.

“I was helped in my inquiries by Mr. Bartleby’s assistant Mr. Samuelson who had paid a heavy price for his help.”

Holmes looked at me and I turned and gestured Foreman to wheel Samuelson in. I noticed that Holmes was looking at the reactions from the staff at Samuelson’s condition as Foreman brought him next to Holmes.

There was much reaction from the crowd at this point.

“Mr. Samuelson was almost the next victim of the Art Murders but was saved by the help of the police and my college Doctor Watson right here in this gallery.”

He stood up and pulled back his sleeves just a touch exposing the bandages beneath.

“As was I saved by the same people from a similar fate.”

I watched the group as they muttered to each other.

“Now the paintings in question were all from the same collection, isn’t that correct Mr. Bartleby?”

“Yes it is Mr. Holmes,” Bartleby replied.

“And you obtained the collection from an Italian art dealer?”

“Yes.”

“The first thing I found was that the bills of laden were not, shall we say, totally authentic. It was apparent that a couple of them had been tampered with. It was a professional job but to the trained eye there were irregularities to them. Mr. Samuelson was instrumental in helping me with this. In fact it was Mr. Samuelson who alerted Mr. Bartleby to the whole situation.”

Holmes put his hand gently on Samuelson’s shoulder.

“So we have a set of paintings as part of a group from Italy that are from somewhere else and had been inserted into the collection. But not only were they not part of the collection, they were also copies. The question became whether they arrived as copies or if the switch was made here. It became evident to me that the switch had been made here.”

He pointed to the floor of the gallery. Again there was murmuring from the crowd.

“Such a showman,” said Gregson in my ear. I nodded in agreement.

“There were only four people here who had the knowledge and the opportunity to do such a deed. Mr. Bartleby, Mr. Samuelson, Mr. Gage, and Mr. Ryder.” He pointed to each man as he spoke. 

“I’m almost up,” said Gregson and he left the room for a moment before returning with Layton and Stewart at his side.

“I had no reason to suspect either Mr. Bartleby or Mr. Samuelson of the deed since they were ones to call upon me to sort it out and besides I have evidence that proves their innocence in this matter. But what of Mr. Gage and Mr. Ryder?”

I watched as the group stepped away from the two men that Holmes had called out. Both men looked extremely nervous. I was sure they were both guilty from the looks on their faces.

Holmes looked from one man to the other, “You both had the opportunity and a motive but only one of you threw his lot in with Mr. Copper and his gang of ruffians in hopes of raise their fortunes. It took some doing but I was given the last piece to the puzzle when I had a rather frank discussion with the Prince about his activities here in London. And we all know how honor among thieves tends to work out don’t we Mr. Ryder?”

Ryder made a break for it but found himself in the arms of the constabulary rather quickly. They had him in cuffs in front of Holmes.

Ryder snarled, “Good luck making any of this stick Mr. Holmes. You can’t try me without evidence and all you have is the word of a man who is a known criminal.”

“Oh I have evidence Mr. Ryder along with the swore testimony of Prince Serge or Mr. Copper as you know him. You have a rather strange footprint as your right shoe is smaller than your left. I can put you at the warehouse and here the night of the attempt on Mr. Samuelson’s life. Also I am willing to testify that you were one of the men who beat me while I was in the hands of Mr. Copper.”

“You never saw me,” came the reply “you were blindfolded.”

“And you have done me the courtesy of informing Inspector Gregson here that you did participate in my torture.”

Ryder open and closed his mouth a couple of times as it sank in what he has just imparted to the group. Gregson led him away while he promised ruin upon anyone and everyone. 

“Well that’s done,” said Holmes, “I suggest that we get Mr. Samuelson back to his hospital bed and us home. Also Bartleby, I would withdraw those 5 suspect paintings from the auction as the originals have unfortunately been sold on the black market according to the information I received this morning.”

Bartleby didn’t look happy but he nodded. 

Foreman took Samuelson who had fallen asleep shortly after the confrontation with Ryder.

I was left with Holmes in the gallery watching as they removed the paintings.

“Holmes, so the paintings are gone and the murder with a string of bodies is going to another country where he will be free. Where is the justice in that?”

“We did expose an international counterfeit ring that had been a thorn in the side of the art market and we did save a young man’s life. Take our wins where we can.”

“What about Gale? Was he mixed up in this at all?”

“Why would you think that?”

“The look on his face when he saw Samuelson and when you narrowed the suspects to him and Ryder.”

“Ah that, well Gale is Samuelson’s lover. What you saw was honest shock over seeing the person you love in such condition. You should know the look all too well.”

“That’s not very nice Holmes.”

“No it wasn’t. I do apologize for that Watson.”

Bartleby came back in and said, “Thank you Mr. Holmes for taken care of the problem. And thank you for saving my son.”

“You are welcome Mr. Bartleby. I only wish I could have given you…” he stopped and said, “No, I can give you the missing paintings. Take me to the basement here.” 

“There is nothing but shipping crates down there Mr. Holmes. They are empty.”

“Or are they? The implication was that the paintings had shipped but the verb that was used was the wrong verb. It has been bothering me all day but now I understand.”

We made it down into the basement with a couple of staff members. 

Holmes said, “We are looking at the crates large enough to hold the paintings within. Do not bother with the small crates.”

They look for a while and nothing was coming up.

“Mr. Bartleby where are the crates that were here the other day?” asked Holmes pointing to a side of the room that was clear. 

“Oh those were pieces already to ship and we have gotten the bill of laden for each. They were taken down to the warehouse yesterday to ship out on Monday.”

“May I see the manifest?”

Bartleby had his assistant run upstairs for the paperwork.

Holmes flipped through the various papers and pulled four, “All of these were packed under Mr. Ryder’s auspices. All of them are to ship to Amsterdam before going onto Russia. We have to get to these crates before they vanish.”

I found myself racing with Holmes off to the warehouse where he had been held captive. Bartleby sent Mr. Gale with us to get us into their section of the warehouse.

On the way over I heard Mr. Gale talking quietly with Holmes.

“I will never be able to thank you enough Mr. Holmes. Samuelson is my best friend in the world and I can’t image my life without his wit and sense of humor in it.”

That was probably the closest he could get to tell Holmes the truth that Holmes already knew.

We got to the warehouse and Mr. Gale found the night watchman who let us into the room where the crates from Bartleby’s were kept. I helped Gale move some around until we found the ones that matched the numbers that Holmes suspected.

The first crate yielded some religious art but not what we were looking for. It was in the second crate behind a false wall that Holmes deduced, we found the first two missing paintings. The other two crates had the three other missing paintings.

Mr. Gale was very grateful.

“We can bring them back for the second half of the sale tomorrow. Thank you Mr. Holmes. Thank you!”

He tried to insist that we go back with him to see Mr. Bartleby but I could tell that Holmes was about at the end of his rope so I firmly declined as Holmes’ physician and we rode back to Baker Street.

Holmes let me help him out of the cab and up the stairs to our rooms. With each step he was leaning more on me for support. I got him to the couch and removed his shoes. 

“Holmes now that this business is done, you must stay off your feet for a time to let them heal. I insist.”

He smiled and said “Well Watson you might have to give me a reason not to stand up for a bit.”

Mrs. Hudson entered with our dinner and to collect our coats and hats. She informed us that Wilson had gone back to Lord Willingham’s house and Miss Morstan was here if we needed her to help. Holmes dismissed both women for the evening telling Mrs. Hudson I would ring if we needed anything.

We ate in relative silence. I could see that Holmes was falling asleep so I assisted him to his room and got him ready for bed. 

“I am sure you have some questions Watson.”

“They can wait Holmes. Get some rest.”

I went to go upstairs to my bed to allow him the bed to himself but he stopped me.

“No Watson, I am afraid you must be on duty tonight and sleep with me.”

I smiled and said, “I will gladly fulfill that order Sir.”

He yawned a large yawn and said, “We will talk tomorrow.”

I nodded and went to get ready for bed. By the time I returned, Holmes was sound asleep and I quickly joined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am figuring one more after this and I will call it done. Sort of an epilogue.
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting. I hope that this chapter does what I want it to.
> 
> But as I said before I will be writing more in this universe if people want to read it.


	21. Now that is done

We awoke the next morning to a knock at the door. I got up and put on my robe. It was nice to move without wincing but I could tell I was going to have to stretch later.

I went to the door to find Mary standing there.

“I am sorry to disturb you Doctor Watson, but we were getting a little concerned. Is everything all right?”

I realized that it was almost noon, “Yes Miss Morstan, everything is fine. I think all that has being going on just caught up with us.”

“May I check on Mr. Holmes?”

I stepped back to let her in. Holmes gave her one sleepy eye open and said, “What do you want? And where is Watson?”

“I need to check you over Sir and Doctor Watson is right here.”

He nodded and seemed to drift back to sleep.

“If you don’t mind Miss Morstan staying with him while I get dressed.”

She smiled and said, “You would think by this time you would be calling me Mary.”

I smiled back, “And if you will return the favor and call me John.”

“All right John, I will take care of Mr. Holmes and you do what you need to.”

A sleepy voice came from the bed, “I’m Sherlock if anybody cares.”

I went up to my room and did a series of stretching exercises that I had been doing since I was a lad. The pattern was soothing. There were still some moves that did not come as easily as I would have liked but it was improving. I completed my morning toiletry, got dressed, and returned downstairs to find that Mrs. Hudson had put out food for us both. I had a cup of tea and nibbled on some toast wondering if I should check on Holmes.

Just as I was about to get up, Holmes entered assisted minimally by Mary.

“Watson I though you should know that this young lady could give your massage skills a run for their money. I haven’t felt this good in weeks.”

Mary blushed just a bit at the praise. She turned to me and said, “Everything is healing nicely now. He re-injured his left wrist but I don’t think that will be a problem from this point on. Mr. Holmes said that he promised no running around for either of you for a bit.”

Holmes sat down and started eating. I noticed that his hands were not shaking as bad as they had been. He could hold a cup and feed himself without my fear that he would drop everything.

He noticed that I was moving more like myself.

“On the mend then?”

I nodded.

“If I remember correctly you had a few questions about the case.”

“Yes, the first being why Samuelson was so sure the paintings were forgeries? The senior staff had declared them authentic and Bartleby had no reason to suspect any wrong doing.”

“Well that is a rather delicate matter Watson. Samuelson knew that the paintings were forgeries due to a conversation he overheard.”

“Well why did he tell his employer what he heard?”

“Because of where he heard it. He was out for drinks with Mr. Gale at a rather discreet gentlemen’s club that caters to men of our ilk. He heard the name of his auction house come up in a conversation in Russian between two men. I believe that one of the men was Mr. Copper and they were planning how to replace the paintings in the gallery before the auction. Mr. Ryder’s name came up in their discussion.”

“I thought Mr. Samuelson’s mother was Serbian.”

“Mr. Samuelson, as is his mother, is well versed in over fifteen languages, two of which are considered dead languages. One of the reasons he is so helpful to Mr. Bartleby. One among many.”

“Ah” I said not quite knowing what to say without sounding like an idiot.

“Mr. Samuelson listened carefully to the conversation and had all the information he could need but no way to use it without having to testify as to where he was when he got the information.”

“Which would have gone badly for him.”

“He wasn’t really thinking of himself but of Mr. Gale his…partner.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Gale had already served time for unlawful acts and if he was caught again it was not going to end well for him.”

I felt a pain in my chest knowing that Holmes and I faced the same possibility if we were exposed.

“I know Watson. I know. Samuelson did some research and came up with reasons to question each of the paintings, which exposed the counterfeit ring and I believe you know the rest.”

“How did you know?”

“Samuelson told me once he figured out that I was in the ‘club’ as it were. I had the information but I needed to find a way of bringing the facts to light without implicated either Samuelson or Gale.”

“Almost at the cost of your own life Sherlock,” I said rather gravely.

He nodded, “I know John and I regret that I ran off to solve the case without you.”

I helped him to the couch and put his feet in my lap to examine them. I carefully rubbed them and made sure he could feel my touch. He cocked his head on his fist and looked at me through half closed eyes and smiled.

“You are still first in my book Watson.”

Slowly he fell asleep on the couch. I maneuvered my way out from under him and covered him with that ratty blanket he liked so much.

Mrs. Hudson came in and smiled at the sleeping form of our Master.

“Another case solved by Sherlock Holmes,” she said, “What are you going to call this one?”

“Oh I don’t know yet. In fact this may be one of those that doesn’t get written up.”

She chuckled, “I know you John Watson. You are already working it out in your head aren’t you?”

I smiled because everything felt normal for the first time in a while, “You know me too well Mrs. Hudson.”

“The adventure of the crucified detective has a ring to it.”

“Oh good heavens no Mrs. Hudson. It gives away the middle of the story. How about the Case of the Missing Client?”

“Well you are the writer,” she said.

“That I am,” I replied and I sat down to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope the ending works for you. 
> 
> I do thank you for all your encouragement and comments. They have helped a lot.
> 
> I promise I will be playing in this sandbox again. Just might not be immediately.


End file.
